Midsummer. The heat this past week has been epic. Every day my garden thermometer has registered well over 100 degrees. I can’t remember when I’ve worked so hard, been so sweaty, or felt so tired.
Nevertheless, the garden awaits me every single morning, wanting food, water, debugging, and cleaning. (Plant poop is a constant reality.)
My Asiatic lilies are as tall as I am. After their huge, gorgeous flowers emerge from the candelabra top of each thick stalk, the individual blooms might last four days. Then, exhausted petals begin to drop. The challenge is to spot those flowers that are nearly done, and snap them off while they’re still hanging on. If I wait too long, cleanup gets trickier. Kneeling, I must weave my arm between the stalks to pluck withered petals off the ground, or tease them from leaves further down the plant. Much better to stand on tiptoe, arch my arm, carefully reach deep into the bed, snap off the dying flower, then withdraw without disturbing nearby blooms. It’s a workout that involves balance, judgment and coordination as I s-t-r-e-t-c-h to reach flowers without falling into the bed and wreaking everything. (That’s what we gardeners have nightmares about.)
There are lots of other ways to ruin a lily’s few days of life; I can mis-align my armpits and snap off a stunner as I reach up and over, or incorrectly position my elbows, or feel around behind other lily flowers to pinch off a dead bloom, only to discover I’ve taken the live one next to it- Ah, I hate that mistake!
The fun part comes after all the flowers are finished.
When not a single one is left, the long stems must be left to ripen to yellow for at least eight to ten weeks. Eeee! What to do with a forest of thick, tall green stalks with nothing on??
Some gardeners scatter a few lily bulbs here and there in their gardens, making naked stems much easier to hide among other blooming flowers. Not this girl. Obstinately I mega-group them for a jaw-dropping show, and of course, I must eventually pay the piper.
A few years ago I hit on the idea of making the forest of leggy, topless stalks serve as support poles for twining annuals.
-Mandevilla, for instance, boasting delightful red or pink flowers, can be trained to scramble up and around them. So I carefully park one of these potted stunners in between. Just when the lilies are done the mandevilla will have grown sufficiently to show off their blooms. Everybody’s happy.
-Type II (summer-blooming) clematis are also glad to rely on them.
-This year I’ve planted Crocosmia among the stalks, too. Wow! Their fat-leaved, flame-red flowers should look great as they rise nearly as high as their ripening, bald fellows.
-Silvery licorice, fed and watered regularly, can grow to astounding lengths, and be trained to weave its silver vine-arms between stalks, while completely blanketing the garden floor. Plus, it sniffs of – well, you can guess.
-A dwarf tropical canna lily’s wide bronze or green leaves and bright flowers capture the eye; uninteresting stuff effectively vanishes.
-The graceful fronds of purple fountain grass blur the unlovely poles nicely.
My most time-consuming task is to deadhead (an awful name for a vital job). Every dying flower, and its stem, must be culled. I tackle exhausted daisies, daylilies, cranesbill (perennial geraniums that can eat up twenty minutes), balloon flowers, my few remaining roses (which stab me for my trouble), pansies, violets, bellflowers, sage, and on and on. Even coreopsis can’t escape my fingers. Dead flowers and stems aren’t allowed to ruin a newborn flower’s day(s) in the sun if I can help it. The result is enormously satisfying.
How much time do I dedicate to this? Well, about two to three hours every morning.
Newborn daylilies (so named because each flower lasts exactly one day) are relieved of yesterday’s limp, dead brethren. Cranesbill’s bushy presentation has zillions of finished little blooms which need twenty minutes, three mornings a week. Balloon flowers want deadheading three times a day. (No biggie: cleaning my six plants takes thirty seconds.)
Not deadheading allows cherished flowers to turn scraggly and stop producing flowers.
Finally, in early September, I stop. They’re allowed to rest.
What I dread most are Japanese beetles, which are nearly impossible to dislodge. They’re voracious eaters. A giant canna leaf, for example, can be ruined overnight. I’ve stopped smacking the beetles between my palms. They don’t crush, and my hands get too sore. But I can pick them off every morning and drop them into soapy water. It’s a nasty job. Ten cannas tower above me, making it difficult to see the little creatures properly. It’s mostly pointless anyway. There are just too many. Water blasts and chemical sprays make them yawn. These beetles are as adaptable- and prolific- as cockroaches.
One reason I chucked out my magnificent alley rose garden was because of this wretched, beautiful insect.
Oh- and I also try to remove every yellowing, saggy leaf or frond from every plant. ‘Dirty underwear’ is never an asset.
Some plants- like the lovely (100% poisonous) daturas, or my thirsty meadow rue, sporting seven-foot tall hollow purple stems- happily gulp gallons of water every three or four hours in this heat. (It’s stupid to try to grow rue, a delightful bog plant, in sandy soil, but I’ve stubbornly persevered for years- because I love the darn thing.)
Hours later I’m a roasting wreak, but mostly satisfied with that morning’s work. Sadly though, one big plant has died this week in spite of my efforts.
The constant vigilance is exhausting; an hour seems to last a year when garden and caretaker are so stressed.
Oh, NO! I just looked out the window- the hydrangeas’ leaves are belly-up! Again! It’s 105 degrees out there, and desiccating winds are pummeling them! So, out I go again to lie on the ground and direct the hose straight to their roots for 15 minutes, muttering “The end is near… The end is near…”
…because Saturday morning the temperature will drop at least 30 degrees!
Then- Oh, bliss- I can rest.