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JULY AND AUGUST weather are already with us, and neither this gardener nor his garden knows quite what to make of that. The weather is such that early morning is the only comfortable time to work outside, though late afternoons, especially if one can find space out of the sun to work in, is also endurable. Late afternoon is likely to be muggy and uncomfortably damp, so I limit work outside then to watering plants in containers, deadheading and other tasks that require minimal energy.
I know that those younger than me, which includes much of the population, may not share my aversion to perspiration, or to the sun, but I have enough skin cancers already, and can get quite enough exercise without dripping water all over. I shudder to think of what summer, still almost a month away, will actually be like, but if it takes its cue from spring, it will be a Lulu.
Meanwhile, in spite of all my efforts, the garden is a jungle. Everything is early, and nothing seems to want to go away. I am finally pulling daffodils and other bulb foliage, but find that some of it is not yet ready, and a tug dislodges bulbs along with foliage. Since I don't need replanting chores just now, I give a careful test before I yank, and unless the foliage separates easily, leave it in place. About the only plus I can see to the abundance of foliage this spring is that weeds are not as obvious as they would otherwise be. This is no real blessing, though, for many are so well hidden that they will reach seeding size before I find and pull them, which will only cause more weeding problems later.
One reason one clears bulb foliage and foliage of plants that have already gone through their first blush--other than just the fact that neatness counts--is to see what is yet to come. Once I can see it, I can decide how to handle it. At some places, this means not only removing dead or dying foliage, but removing plants that have not yet reached blossoming stage, to give more desirable plants a chance.
Adenophora confusa, one of the ladybells that seem to be everywhere, is one plant that needs grooming. It is a wonderful ground cover, but eventually gets tired of spreading across the ground and sends up blossom spikes of 3 feet or so that it covers with campanulalike blue blossoms. Like most ground covers, it sees its destiny as claiming as much territory as possible for itself. Since it sends long runners underground, runners that break when one tries to pull it, I suspect that it will always be with me.
The best I can do is pull it from among carnations, hardy geranium and other lower-growing plants as soon as it begins to grow heavenward. I lose a lot of blossoms this way, but there will still be more than enough. Adenophora has the ability to persevere almost anywhere, whether shady or sunny, dry or damp, something that its look-alike campanulas cannot do, so it is an important garden plant.
Campanula is almost as bad territorially, though the one I grow, Campanula glomerata, is neither so tall nor so noticeable as the adenophora. It spreads just as badly, however, though it never thickens the way adenophora does. Still, it has spread into veronica and black-eyed Susan clumps. Veronica 'Goodness Grows' is such a delight that I want it to persevere, and so I pull the campanula bullying it. The two, each less than a foot high, are interesting contrasts in blue and in blossom form. The campanula produces round heads of intense blue while the veronica produces spikes closely packed with lighter blue blossoms. Cut back after blossoming, the campanula will produce a few less-showy blossoms further down each stalk, but the veronica will blossom throughout the season.
Larkspur seem to be everywhere. I always leave a few to go to seed, and am amazed each year at how widely it spreads. It doesn't matter. While they are in blossom, in shades of white, pink and blue, there are few handsomer plants, so, though I pull it from walks and thin it in some beds, I cannot imagine the May/June garden without it.
I saved a few of its seed more than a quarter century ago from an abandoned garden near the National Cemetery in Alexandria, and it has never failed me. In that deserted garden, it lighted up the approach to the cemetery, and I never missed going by now and again to see it each year. In the end, I could not resist gathering a few seed to bring home, and I have never been sorry. Some of my best plants were obtained just as the larkspur was, and the memories of their origin and the years with them are part of what endears them to me.
Another such plant is the rose campion, Lychnis coronaria. It came from the same untended Alexandria garden, and blossoms at the same time as the larkspur. Though I have not been back to the Alexandria source in years, I am certain that neither the house nor the garden survives. I fancy, though, that many gardens profited from its largesse, for both the campion and the larkspur persevered there without care, in heat and drought, no matter what.
I sometimes met others admiring that garden, and we had pleasant conversations about who must have lived there and what the garden must have been like. Both the larkspur and campion are natural plants for cottage gardens, and reliable reseeders. There were other cottage-garden plants there as well, but these are the two I remember most, and gathered to enjoy again each year.
Both are significant contributors to the jungle my garden is just now, but I can forgive them, for they make that jungle seem almost tame. After all, cottage gardens are always a bit junglelike.
TONY P. WRENN of Fredericksburg is a lifelong gardener. He welcomes questions from readers and will try to answer them in his column. Contact him by mail at The Free Lance-Star, 616 Amelia St., Fredericksburg, Va. 22401; by fax at 540/ 373-8455; or by e-mail to his attention at gwoolf@freelancestar.com.
