Blending Outback and Nike

Chris Beytes

There’s nothing uglier than a daylily in August, which is why I recently chopped mine back to the ground. And I don’t give a rodent’s patooty what anybody thinks.

Around my garden, I’m known to be pretty brutal with the pruning shears. Now, this often leads to confrontations with the wife, the professional horticulturist. To her, as well as to most plant experts, pruning is an exacting branch of science, like quantum physics. I don’t know how many times I’ve been chastised for “cutting off next season’s blooms” or some such thing. My reply? “Hey, the plant was overgrown and needed whacking back. And besides, I’m the boss of this plant.”

Childish, I know.

But that’s the overarching philosophy by which I garden: If a plant is doing something I don’t approve of, I take the clippers, pruners or loppers to it. Or the shovel, if I’m really fed up. I’ll have none of this Botany of Desire, plants-controlling-us nonsense in my yard. I tell the plants what to do, not the other way around. And in the case of my daylilies, my iron hand results in a fresh, green appearance for the fall season.

Just for fun, I called three local garden centers this morning and, feigning ignorance, asked them if I could cut back my daylilies this time of year. To their credit, two immediately replied, “Yup!” Only one cautioned me against removing green leaves, the “engine of the plant” as she termed them, instead advising that I only remove brown or yellow leaves.

Pshaw!

This month’s rant is in aid of what I just illustrated: We make gardening too complicated, too fussy, too exacting. Which, I’m sure, turns off many from ever taking up the hobby.

Granted, horticulture is a science, complete with phytochrome, photosynthesis and the Krebs cycle. But gardening is not a science, it’s an art, and we should treat it as such. So I’m suggesting we steal the mottos of Outback Steak House and Nike and blend them together into a motto for us: “Gardening: No rules, just do it.”

Consider other art forms. You walk into a music store to buy your first guitar and nobody hits you with acoustics. You take painting 101, you don’t have to delve into the chemistry of pigment. Dance classes don’t come with lessons on the musculoskeletal system. All these art forms require is a desire to give them a go.

Gardening should be the same. We should free ourselves of the complicated notions of what to do with plants when or how or even where. I know that’s crazy talk, but hear me out. Certainly, we want new gardeners to be successful, which is why we should always suggest the right plant for the right place. But there’s a pretty big gray area—literally and figuratively—between shade and sun and wet and dry, and it’s amazing how many plants will do well in a seemingly “wrong” spot.

Once, to fill in a bed under a serviceberry next to the garage—a hot, western exposure—I wanted to plant some vinca vine. I was told the spot was too sunny. I ignored the advice … and have been rewarded with as lush a bed of vinca as you could want.

Conversely, I constantly plant ferns in a moist, shady spot that is textbook for ferns and yet the darned things won’t grow. I also have a variegated willow “bush” that is now 12 ft. high and 20 ft. across and serves as a wonderful shade tree. I couldn’t be happier that it broke the rules.

“No rules, just do it” works because, frankly, even when you follow the rules, plants die for no apparent reason. My garden history is full of such cases.

The other problem with rules is that it takes the fun and spontaneity out of gardening. Which, I suppose, it’s why it’s called “yard work.” That’s something else I’d like to fix, maybe with Pike Nurseries’ motto, “Play in the dirt again.”

Meanwhile, if I want to take some loppers to my overgrown honeysuckle, I’m going to, dadgummit—even if it means cutting off next spring’s blooms.

Just don’t tell the horticulturist. GT