Clichés to self: Cool your jets. Step off the treadmill. Anticipate the future, but take time to enjoy the here and now. Just say no to plant lust.
Had an insightful moment the other night at my regular pub, a quiet gathering of thoughtful grownups where I can let down my hair horticulturally and just chat informally about gardening with friendly companions, without it being work.
But before I could check myself, I admitted out loud that my garden isn’t what it used to be, because I have lost my belly fire for plant collecting.
Maybe this got started earlier in the week as I once again checked my impulse to correct a fellow gardener’s innocent, hopeful comment. Every time I hear someone say that daffodils are a cheery sign that spring is near, I want to say “No, they are a sure sign that winter has its own joys to enjoy. Spring will be here soon enough, and we will miss the daffodils when they are gone.”
But back to the late-night conversation. While describing the difference between my different kinds of daffodils - the fragrant paperwhites, the tiny jonquils with their thin, reedy quill-like foliage, the large cup trumpets, the ancient lent lilies with swept-forward petals - my pub mate said he’d love to see my collection. And I realized with a jolt that a lot of them are long gone, dug up and replanted in an old cemetery where they will live forever. Where at one time I had over 70 different kinds, I am down to just a dozen or so of my favorites.
And with relief I realized that it’s just part of my deliberate if foot-dragging attempt towards making my garden more user-friendly while retaining its joys. I am getting older and gone to my small terrace garden in England for sometimes months at a stretch, and simply don’t have energy or time or even interest in having everything I once desired.
My interest in alluring new and exotic plants is still powerful, but I am no longer falling for their charms. Finding more pleasure in tending a few good ones that are with me through thick and thin than I am gathering all that strike my fancy.
Like the daffodils, many of which came from my great-grandmother’s garden, I am winnowing my once-impressive collections of heirloom peppers, old roses, Sansevierias and other tropical potted beauties, and hardy succulents to a more manageable and representative few.
Years ago I realized I don’t have to own every book I read, or eat the entire dozen tamales to get my fill of lard; likewise, I’m getting control of my compulsion to possess every plant I see. Settling down with a few representative comfort favorites of each. Taking more time to linger with what I truly fancy. As potted plants are consolidated, flower beds have shrunk to just three or four that are easily planted and tended, and the lawn replaced with mulched groups of trees and shrubs connected with flagstone walks, I am letting some favorite plants go.
I haven’t lost my zeal. I’m just as thrilled to poke around garden center, botanic gardens, and deep corners of the Internet for exotic finds, and I cheer on horticultural enthusiastic home gardening friends as they show me their plant treasures. I’m with you all in spirit, excited as ever to bask in your excitement.
But even as I weigh available space against time and energy, and enjoyment becomes more vicarious, I’ve still got a touch of plant covetousness. Who knows what I might bring home next trip…
Felder Rushing is a Mississippi author, columnist, and host of the “Gestalt Gardener” on MPB Think Radio. Email gardening questions to rushingfelder@yahoo.com.
