It seemed a good idea at the time – a whole bank of ginger lilies that would choke out the blackberry, bloom with the scent of paradise every summer, and need no care at all, except a little trim of old flower heads if we got around to it.
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And it was a good idea. No blackberries left, no bare ground for them to even get a roothold. But this winter our normal winter frosts combined with ultra dry, drought air meant every single ginger lily has been frosted off – a giant bank of withered brown leaves.
They will sprout again. I think. But there is now a large depressing stretch of dead leaves waving at us every time we come home, all yelling ‘‘prune me now!’’ Which we will. Or someone will. And this summer when they bloom we will probably entirely forget the winter blight.
Regret number 2: I didn’t notice when a friend left a present of jasmine for us, planted by the front fence. Enough said. After 20 years of pulling out jasmine every spring there is still another bit that’s spread and smells quite glorious (and strong enough to lead us to the culprit and haul it out). And that we don’t regret.
Regret number 3: Paper mulberries. The runners started to spread by year three and we have been pulling them out ever since. Do not plant paper mulberries.
Regret number 4: Pineapple sage. I didn’t think I’d ever write a word against pineapple sage. Gorgeous scented leaves that are delicious in fruit cup, bright red flowers in the gloom of winter, a bit leggy but nothing a quick yearly prune can’t handle. A generous, polite kind of shrub …
Until last year. Maybe it was its 21st birthday and it thought it could finally misbehave. Because last year it sent out runners over a quarter of one of the vegie gardens and broke out into clumps across the patch of something green we call ‘‘lawn’’ and the wombats call ‘‘breakfast’’.
Why (waves hand in air)? Why be so sedate and decorous and then leap wildly all about the place?
I’ve hauled the roots out. Bryan will dig out the errant clumps. And maybe it will decide to behave itself forever afterwards. Or maybe … possibly … it will be the next to go.
Let this be a warning to all salvia lovers: ones that are perfect for one place, providing foraging for birds and bees, can die in another situation, or turn into a small salvia jungle. Watch your salvias carefully for signs they are breaking the boundaries. Any plant that grows too well is a weed - and many plants may take 10 years, or even 20, to become ‘‘established’’ and flower and seed or send out runners.
Regret number 5: Maybe the potato vine, a gift from the same ‘‘friend’’ who somehow forgot to mention she had planted it in time for us to haul it out before it spread? Or the hanging basket of four-leafed clover that someone borrowed to take cuttings and never brought back, and that I have never been able to replace? Or the alpine strawberries I lost when I forgot to water them? Or even … bother, I forgot to pick asparagus yesterday and the not quite perfect sized ‘‘giant purple’’ asparagus will probably be massive when I head out to pick it as soon as I have finished writing this.
Or maybe my chief regret is that no matter how large my garden is I would love it to be larger; no matter how much time I spend on it, I would love to garden more; and that I regret every single plant the wallabies consume, but not enough to stop sharing my garden with the wildlife.
The wallabies’ greatest regret is probably that I exist and – sometimes – interrupt their munching. Wallabies do not realise that humans plant gardens, or that the humans might think they own that garden. (The wallabies obey the wombats, but not me.) And the wombats? Wombats never regret a thing.
This week I am:
- Seriously thinking about mulching the spuds and asparagus – I almost certainly won’t get around to it, but the thought is there.
- Picking asparagus, but not quite often enough.
- Cutting back the rhubarb flower heads so they keep producing succulent stems instead of seeds.
- Wishing it was going to be a lush, wet year and I could plant two more cherries, two more Golden Queen peaches and the earliest white variety I can find, a dozen rose bushes and 20 interesting banksias. Next year perhaps.
- Planting the runner bean seeds I was going to put in last week, but didn’t – runner beans seem to be less prone to rotting or dying if we get a late frost.
- Rejoicing in a double pink camellia bush that didn’t bloom at all in winter but, as soon as it rained last week, suddenly grew buds and now flowers. It seems that camellias – or some of them –sulk in a drought, but forgive with just a few showers of rain.
