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Perhaps last week I appeared to be making fun of myself, and many other gardeners who can't pass up an interesting plant without having it leap into the shopping cart. So now I owe everyone an explanation.
I've been gardening for long enough that I had forgotten what hooked me in the first place. I am now at the point where even the sight of a weed after a long, snowy winter brings excitement. Hey --it's green and growing! But until my neighbor asked me to help her make a garden, I had lost sight of what led me to that sense of excitement. I took her to the nursery. I had hoped she would choose some sturdy perennials to form a backbone to the garden. Instead, she fell in love with a flat of flowering tobacco. It cost $1.25. I realized that once the perennial stopped blooming it might lose its interest for her. An annual would require deadheading and cleaning. She could even learn to save seeds. That flat of annuals would require a certain commitment. We bought two. In the yard I showed her how to dig a proper planting hole, and how to gently untangle the rootball and firm the plant in. Instead of putting them in front of the white-painted house, I had her put the white flowers in front of a dark green rhododendron. She sat back and surveyed her work. And she was awed. Awed by the difference she had created with $2.50 and a bit of minor effort. And excited. She had created a pretty picture -- a living picture that had color, scent and texture. The next day she wanted to go to the nursery again. The white flowers against the green were nice, but now she wanted to try something new, perhaps in complimentary colors. The next trip to the nursery was a different experience. Now she noticed different flower colors, but also the leaves -- purple, variegated, mottled and in all shades of green. She began to wonder how the silvery lavender would look planted near the rambling rose that had appeared, unbidden on her slope. Would that purple-leafed heuchera look good there, too? Plants became not just a means of creating curbside appeal, but things that were interesting in themselves. And they made a nearly instant difference to the landscape. Gardening is like painting with living things. You can (but I hope you don't) become a representational painter, using bedding plants to create floral messages. You can plant expressionist paintings in misty mauves and lavenders and greys, or bold canvases of strong reds and yellows. Erasure is seldom a problem -- you simply dig and move and alter your picture until you are satisfied. Should this leave a hole in your canvas you may divide and propagate -- or take still another trip to the nursery. Playing with plants is an ultimate expression of creative impulses.
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