Gardening and appreciating gardens have always been my passions. When I was a child, my father would spend countless hours in his gardens. He would spend hours weeding, mulching, and dividing plants like hostas and vinca (which he called myrtle). My Dad was a tree man. Maple trees were his speciality, but he believed all trees deserved a place in his gardens. From towering red maples to birch, katsura, and various large forms of conifers. We lived in Chicago and in northern Michigan, so this gave him two gardens to work in, design, and nurture. In Michigan, our family is known for our very tall arborvitae hedges.
One thing I never saw Dad do was sit and enjoy the beautiful spaces he created. Sure, he would have a cocktail or smoke the odd cigar while sitting. But it was never for long and I am certain his eyes wandered around the spaces in front of him planning the next change or cleanup.
Sometimes I was asked to help in the garden. My jobs were specific, and he expected my work to be perfect and the area tidy at the finish. I loved weeding and pruning. Cleaning up was another matter.
When we rented our first home as a married couple, my husband became the cleanup man This dynamic has never really changed. I took great pains to reduce the size of our overgrown azalea bushes in front of the house. I became a frequent visitor to the local garden store.
When we bought our first home, it had a sizable garden that suffered from years of neglect. Kudzu and poison ivy vines covered most of the back yard. The vines took over both the choke cherry tree and almost two-thirds of the available space. It looked more like a rainforest than a suburban yard!
I still remember sitting in my home office working when the guy I hired to remove the vines called out, “Mrs. Fisher, did you know you have stairs in your backyard?” I replied, “Yes, I am aware of the stairs.” He then exclaimed, “No, the other stairs!”
After all the vines and weeds were cleared, I found two beautiful Japanese maples, several local varieties of dogwoods, three very mature and beautiful boxwoods, and a hidden back staircase. This was the start of my love affair with planning, planting and experimenting in my garden.
For over 20 years I labored in and loved that garden, I designed stacked stone walls, rock gardens and shade gardens. When the long boxwood hedge got sickly it was removed and a new parterre garden went in. Roses, a small box hedge, and an astrolabe from my father’s home were used.
The gardens gave my father and me something in common to discuss as we both grew older. Bug infestations, mistaken plantings that outgrew their space. Rabbits, deer and the den of foxes that lived, snacked and lounged among my flower beds. We discussed and strategized about them all.
Tulips quickly gave way to narcissus and daffodils. Every spring, I would break out the deer repellent, plugging the tablets into the dirt next to the hosta shoots to prevent them from being consumed.
Two years ago we decided it was time to downsize. We traded in our house and yard for a townhouse. A place that has a ten-foot plot of dirt which I share with a neighbor in front. A bricked in patio out back with a water spigot but no dirt.
I set up my small annual beds in the front last spring. Rushing to get things planted before departing on vacation, I didn’t take into account the growth of each plant I used. When we returned home some months later the begonias were nowhere to be found. But the Coleus was tall and triumphant. A burgundy wall against the green boxwood next to our door. It wasn’t planned but it looked rather nice.
My new research project is container gardening. Previous attempts at the house were limited to pots of geraniums to fill our old front door with color. Now, I am looking for all weather pots to grow small shrubs and dwarf trees in year round. I also want some summer color so I purchased four wire baskets to attach to the iron fence on the patio.
Learning something new is challenging. Amending compacted soil out front and experimenting with just how much water is necessary when using coir is frustrating. This is a new garden skill set for me and one I did not learn from my father. How I wish he were here to give me advice and help me with research.
Though he is no longer with us, his admonishments to clean up still echo in my head. My husband appreciates the smaller space to cleanup, and we both enjoy sitting with a cocktail on the patio, surveying my small accomplishments. Like my father, I scan the space and look for what to do next.
Thanks for sharing. Looking forward to continuing our adventures.