A Late June Walk in the Garden

 Sleep. Creep. Leap.

The garden at 26 Pine Street, June 2023.
Double-click for the slideshow.

Those are the words all gardeners learn to live by. You put something in the ground. You pamper it, water it, weed it, and keep it free of disease and interlopers. And, in return, you get… nothing (at least for that first year and, sometimes, for two or three years).  Everything is going on below ground: your plant/tree/shrub is establishing roots. It is exploring its surroundings. It doesn’t care that you want instant gratification. Ultimately, you accept that, at least above the soil line, that thing you planted is sleeping.

Itea 'Little Henry' in full
flower. Three shrubs have
merged into a single mass

Then, after a few years, you see the tangible growth. Your frustration eases – except that you wish you could get more flowers/branches/fruit. Your precious plant is ‘creeping’.

Finally, one spring morning you come out and find you can’t believe your eyes. That scrawny plant is now gorgeous. The awkward teenager has come of age. It flowers in profusion, its branches are sturdy, and its fruits hang heavy. You know all those years of pampering have paid off.  You are proud as punch.

The garden at 26 Pine Street has reached, if not full maturity, a grown-up status. Eight years after the first trees and shrubs were placed, they look as though they’ve always been there. Shrubs planted on three-foot centers with what seemed like yawning chasms between them are now a glorious, full-leafed mass. Trees that were slender saplings are twenty feet high and limbs are touching their neighbors.

The sidewalk's hard edges are
softened by border plants

Best of all are the surprises: the bluestone sidewalk’s edges are softened by geraniums and lavender. A dozen, bare-root asclepias ‘Hello Yellow’ milkweed plants that seemed doomed not to make it through their first year have multiplied to become a glorious colony, dense with flowers – and butterflies. An original plan to use metal borders and gravel for paths within the garden fell by the wayside when moss thrived where we walked. Today, those moss paths traverse the property; gloriously unplanned but far superior to the original concept.

Carolina lupine and asclepias
'Hello Yellow' milkweed

We have taken chances on ‘un-pedigreed’ plants and have been rewarded for being adventurous. Betty spotted Thermopsis villosa – Carolina lupine – at a Grow Native Massachusetts plant sale three years ago. We put it in the front of the garden where it would get full sun. It grew to an impressive seven feet with spikes of brilliant yellow flowers. We let some of the seed pods remain in the soil. This year, a dozen specimens form a brilliant cluster.

Moss walkways weren't part of the
original plan - they were a better idea

Betty was recently asked to give a talk about the garden at a convention in Michigan. Her sponsors made a request that her talk include ‘mistakes’. Betty and I put our heads together and made a list. We started with a reliable one: accepting gifts from friends. While Betty intended the garden to be nearly-all native, she graciously accepted an Asian interloper: a variegated Petasites japonica. It forms a lovely, visually arresting mound of green-and-white leaves. We placed it in a shady site adjacent to a clump of Podophyllum peltatum – Mayapples. All went well that first year. The next spring, we noted with pleasure the Mayapple’s range had almost doubled in size. The Petasites, however, had tripled in area, including a foray into the Mayapples.

Petasites. Now long gone,
and good riddance.

It took three years to completely dislodge the last vestige of the Petasites.

Another error – and it is one we have made with every garden we have had – is to not be sufficiently stern with what I call ‘the Cute Little Interlopers’; plants that hitch-hiked onto the property. At 26 Pine Street, the CILs are the violets. They emerge in early March and are quickly in flower… and almost as quickly in seed. My task each April and May is to grub out every trace of those violets; which by now have insinuated themselves with and intertwined their root into hundreds of ‘good’ plants.

Be wary of Packera aurea

The third mistake is to believe that all native plants are well-behaved. They are not. Exhibit ‘A’ is a thug called Packera aurea, or golden ragwort. Because we have no grass in the garden, we need something else – actually many something elses – to provide a pleasing, low-growing ground cover. Most of these have been quite successful. For the bed comprising our black birch and clump of Clethra (aka summerweet) ‘Hummigbird’, we purchased four pots of Packera.

The dominant ground cover plants in the
rear garden are strawberries, tiarella,
and astilbe.

It is indeed a pretty groundcover with dense, dark green leaves and an attractive golden flower on a tall spike. What is not pretty about it is its intention to take over the entire garden. Three times a year, I venture out with a large cloth barrel and remove Packera from underneath the summersweet, the walkways and half a dozen other places far removed from the mother plants. If you are ever tempted to grow this hoodlum, run – do not walk – to the nearest nursery exit. And, if you already have it growing in your garden, never ever let that golden flower turn into a dandelion-type seed head.

Eight year ago, this is all 
there was...

But the garden is a joy as the accompanying photos will attest. Except for the Petasites photo and this Google Earth view of the garden from September 2015, all images were taken on June 24, 2023 – almost exactly eight years after the first specimen trees were placed in this, their new home.

Tales from the Garden

The 4-H shed and, nearby, the
Medfield Community Garden

Running a 75-plot community garden is a delicate balancing act, and Betty and I take our responsibilities seriously. Despite my self-appointed title of Garden Ogre, I attempt to enforce guidelines with as soft a touch as possible. Betty’s role is one of rendering assistance on all matters horticultural, and she will take all the time necessary to debunk bad internet myths and offer advice based on actual science and real-world experience rather than something dreamed up by a clueless would-be Tik-Tok star.

Yesterday brought events from both ends of the management spectrum.

First, the good news. Four years ago, a new gardener, recently retired from the academic world, joined the Community Garden family. An engineer by training, he also became part of the garden’s corps of volunteers; mending hoses and refurbishing our fleet of wheelbarrows. He further agreed to help stake the garden in the spring and clear ‘problem’ plots in the fall. All of these activities fall under the heading of thankless tasks.

The injured gardener maintains our fleet
of a dozen wheelbarrows

In late March, that gardener had a fall that left him with serious injuries to a leg and foot. He notified me he was unlikely to be able to have a garden this season as he would need one or more surgeries and rehabilitation that would last into summer. My response to him was that it was too soon to make such an irreversible decision. Two garden friends put up his fence; including digging a 100-foot-long trench around the plot’s perimeter to ensure critters could not sneak in uninvited.

That first good deed was the start of many more. His plot neighbors began planting the garden he had envisioned for the season. They weeded and they watered. I have counted no fewer than four helpers whom I have spotted in his plot; working diligently to ensure all is well in his absence.

Volunteers put up the fence around the
injured gardener's plot, including
digging a trench for it

Three days ago, I made a walking tour of the garden and made notes on plots where either no gardening has yet taken place (an ominous sign) or weeds have started appearing among vegetables planted at the season’s beginning in April. I also noted the sterling appearance of our wounded gardener’s plot and wrote off a note to him.

A few hours later I received a reply. I will not quote it out of a respect for a private communication, but his reaction was one of sheer awe that so many people cared. I can honestly say I was choked up as I read it. In a world where altruism is supposed to be passé, a group of people whose sole connection to one another is a shared love of gardening have come together to give one of their own a continuing helping hand.

While watering this morning, I ran into one of the benefactors. She had in her hands several tomatillo plants ready to go into the housebound gardener’s plot. They were, in turn, a gift from yet another benefactor. Truly, there is hope for mankind.

On the other side of the garden, though, something quite different was going on.

Gardeners can over-winter fencing and stakes
in the 4-H shed

Not all of our gardening families have houses with spacious garages, sheds, or basements. And, so, the community garden offers off-season storage of garden fencing, stakes, and tomato cages in a small building across from the garden. The shed will hold material for roughly 25 families and preference is given to people living in multi-family dwellings. All material has to be tightly tied together and labeled with the owner’s name. The shed is locked on November 1 and re-opened only when the garden formally opens April 1. From then on, it is open for the season as gardeners retrieve their supplies.

Before I lock the shed for the season, I make certain all those stakes and fences are tagged, and the names are legible. There is a list of the people who have requested space and I make certain no interlopers have decided one more roll of fencing among 25 won’t be noticed.

The system worked exceptionally well… until this year. On April 1, I unlocked the shed and checked to see everything was still where it was supposed to be. All was right with the world.

Loaner 'Ogre' fencing was available
in an adjacent lean-to

Ten days later, one gardener notified me he had gone to the shed and his fencing bundle was missing. I went to the shed, did my own search, and came to the same conclusion. Yet I knew the bundle was there at the beginning of the month.

There were two possibilities. The first was that someone, likely a new gardener, had erroneously concluded the fencing in the shed was part of the ‘Ogre Fencing’ available for loan to first-year gardeners and stored in an adjacent lean-to. The second possibility was someone filched it.

I queried the garden community but no one had any information. In the meantime, the gardener with the missing fencing purchased new material – spending just over $200 (that’s what it costs!). He put up his new fencing. I said I would try to seek reimbursement for him from the Community Garden Revolving Fund into which all our plot fees are deposited.

Then, the gardener – let’s call him Gardener #1 – took a walk through the now-mostly-fenced community garden and spotted what he was certain were his materials. He contacted me and told me the plot number. It took some time, but I made contact with the individual – a new gardener who would have invited to use Ogre Fencing. I asked the new gardener if there might have been a mistake. The gardener – let’s call him Gardener #2 – stated unequivocally, that the fencing was his.

To me, that closed the issue. I didn’t demand receipts. Somehow, for the first time in more than a decade, someone from outside the garden community had gone into the shed and pilfered someone’s fencing. I reported this to Gardener #1 and repeated that I was going to seek restitution on his behalf.

Restitution, unfortunately, was not as easy as reaching for a checkbook. First, a decision had to be made by someone in authority that such an unprecedented reimbursement was a good idea. The second was actually getting the check written. (I know this because it took six weeks to get reimbursed for the stakes and string used to mark out the garden.) I communicated all this to the gardener.

Unfortunately, as the wheels of progress ground slowly and inconclusively, Gardener #1’s belief hardened that Gardener #2 was using purloined material. It so happened that, yesterday morning, the two gardeners (who had never met) were in the garden at the same time. Gardener #1 went to Gardener #2’s plot and… heated words were exchanged.

Each party emailed me; Gardener #2’s note included a copy of the receipt for the fencing he had purchased. I wrote an apology to Gardener #2, which settled at least that side of the issue. I also wrote Gardener #1 reiterating my earlier statement that, in my mind, the ‘stolen fencing’ question had been resolved as soon as Gardener #2 said the fencing was his own. I further wrote that, if Gardener #1 had an argument with anyone, it should be with me.

Before I became a Garden Ogre in 2009, I had a 35-year career in the corporate world, complete with fancy management titles. I sometimes witnessed (or had a hand in) cooperation across groups that already had a full plate of responsibilities and no spare manpower to lend a hand to struggling peers. Somehow, in hindsight, those examples of selflessness were less inspiring than what I saw this week in the actions of half a dozen gardeners. I also resolved many problems where I had to determine who was right, who was wrong, and enforce my decision. For reasons I will make no effort to explore, those long-ago clashes of ego and power seem less consequential to me than the problems between two gardeners.