I’m not exactly in my dotage, but I do carry the weight of a lot of advice about how to behave in the garden — some of it conveyed gently in beautifully written columns, some of it shouted unsolicited from the sidewalk.
This year, I’m finding myself needing it all — even the bits that I turned up my nose at before — to get the slightest grip on my big, seriously out-of-control garden.
Beloved long ago offered that weeding in the perennial border might be made manageable by filling a 5-gallon bucket a day. As if, I sniffed back then. Now I’m improvising and going big, working briefly between rainstorms and at dawn, filling a 32-gallon polycart with perennial weeds — every single time.
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One time, as I hacked through drifts of unwelcome plants, my neighbor Irene advised that it really was up to me to decide what is a weed. To that end, fragrant white pepperweed can stay until seed heads form, and the , but thistles must go — no matter how much I want to on their seeds.
Last week, a new friend, , suggested that this wet season will reveal the true nature and potential of plants. He was talking about his crop of seedling iris, but it quickly become evident that my garden’s own truth is emerging from the storms.
It’s bold and verdant, overflowing with too-tall hay sprouted from mulch enlivened by the deluges. It’s fertile, even in parts left fallow as yard-made compost ages to prepare for next year’s crops. And it’s welcoming and beautiful, exploding with glorious flowers for anyone able to see the garden for the weeds.
Dana Coffield: dcoffield@denverpost.com, 303-954-1954 or twitter.com/denpostdana
