The Lost and Found Garden

I ought to call it the lost and found garden, because this week wasn't the first time I found that particular place. Mother Nature called it to my attention several years ago, in a rather dramatic fashion.

It sat in our yard, totally neglected, from the day we bought the property, nearly 20 years ago. The area was somewhat wooded when we arrived, and since there was plenty of property that didn't require us to uproot trees to create planting space, we left it alone.

Too alone, actually. I completely failed to notice how many sapling trees were germinating from the seeds that fell so plentifully into the rich, woodland soil each year. Years and years of falling leaves had been left there, slowly turning into wonderful compost. And those seeds took full advantage.

I found myself wondering one year just when those giant sumacs had arrived. I certainly didn't plant them, and didn't remember that colorful fall display in the early years. And at first I thought they were wonderful, because they do put on such a beautiful autumn show, and also because they looked somewhat tropical. Anyone who's ever had a case of zone envy may understand why a northern gardener might value something that looks tropical.

But soon I found myself spending far too much time uprooting baby sumacs from the gardens and lawn. Too soon I found myself despising those trees that had grown to maturity solely because of our neglect.

Unfortunately, my husband liked them. So despite all my hints and disparaging comments, they stayed.

Then Ma Nature stepped in. One summer night, when my husband was out of town (as though he could have stopped her!) she sent a tornado whirling through our yard.

I was safe indoors, enjoying the pyrotechnics but worrying about my garden, where the tall delphiniums had just started to blossom, unstaked. That's what I ran to inspect the next day. And to my amazement it survived intact. The roses were still clinging to the arbor where I had tied them the day before - just in time. Nary a delphinium had toppled. Even an empty plastic watering can still stood upright on the rocks edging the raised bed. All was calm.

Which is why I gasped in total shock when I looked to the other side of the yard. It had changed completely. All ten sumacs lay on their sides, roots waving skyward. Numerous smaller trees - mostly Norway maple seedlings - had also been uprooted. It was a little hard to tell with all the tree trunks and limbs cluttering the view - but it looked like there was a garden in there somewhere. Or at least a potential garden.

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