My garden is located on the NC/SC state line, in a zone which has finally passed the date for last frost. I have been outdoors every day, planting seedlings and pulling weeds. No matter how hard I try, the weeds appear faster than I can remove them. Typically, I select one plant to research for this weekly blog, but yesterday as I rested in the shade, I looked around at the plants that moved with me to my current home. My landscape is not just a garden, it is a testimony of friendship. So, today’s topic is sharing.
Many gardeners have themed areas or outdoor rooms: Pollinator gardens, sensory gardens, moonlight gardens. I don’t have any of those. Instead, I have a Friendship Garden. When I see Blackberry Lily, I recall my friend Pam, now deceased. Hardy orchids remind me of Linda, Epimedium means Cindy, and Crinum lilies recall Neil, a generous customer from my days working in a nursery. Ginger Lily means Melissa, a Ginkgo ‘Saratoga’ says Barbara, yellow coneflowers whisper Janice, and the Hardy Begonia reminds me of Pat. Iris ensata testifies my friendship with Cathy. Shasta Daisies and Crystal Falls Ophiopogon tell of Jane’s generosity. So, so many others.
Everywhere I look, I see not just the plants but the dear friends who shared cuttings, seeds, or bulbs with me. Gardeners are generous people who enjoy sharing their successes and commiserate with failures. Only my closest friends did not question my sanity when I spray painted the dead spots in boxwoods (two shades of green for realism) before our home wedding reception. Those same friends volunteered labor when straight-line winds took down a tree and a storage building the week before a scheduled garden tour.
There is a rarely-mentioned benefit to sharing plants with your friends. If you lose a plant due to disease, insects, animals, or some other reason, you know a ready source for replacement cuttings, seeds, or bulbs. Sharing is one of the best ways to hedge one’s bets, and I encourage you to be generous when someone admires a plant featured in your landscape.
Sadly, there is a corollary to this advice. There is an emotion somewhere between rage and disappointment (rageppointment?) when one has shared a plant – a plant that you have nurtured from a tiny cutting, giving it love and care until it was large enough to rehome – only to learn that the recipient has allowed it to languish and die. I realize that life sometimes gets in the way, but if I have given you three beautiful Hostas and you tell me that they succumbed when you planted them in the baking sun next to your garage, don’t be surprised if I fail to offer you replacements. It is disheartening when I drive by your home and see one of my plant foster children sitting in the bone-dry zone next to your garage, unwatered and unloved, dead as the tag emerging from the lifeless dirt. My donations are easy to spot, because my labels are distinctive.
Please, if you accept a plant from another’s garden, commit to getting it in the ground where the sun exposure meets the plant’s needs. If you cannot do that in a timely manner, just tell the one making the offer that you don’t have the time right now, you cannot offer the plant what it needs, or it doesn’t fit in your color scheme. Honesty at this point increases your chances for another offer at a later date. Don’t accept a plant you do not want.
This row of petite, shade-tolerant Iris tectorum started as a single rhizome gift from a friend. I’ve divided them over and over, and now have a nice stand. I love the color.