The Cascade Effect

This was supposed to be a lazy Sunday afternoon. Read the newspaper (yes, I’m a dinosaur who subscribes to the print edition of newspapers), organize some documents I had been putting off doing; that sort of thing.

I looked out the window and saw my
containers needed watering

But, I glanced out the window by the front door and saw that the two container gardens at the base of steps needed watering. So, I filled a jug of water from a rain barrel and went out to quench the thirsty containers. Which is when I noticed that one of my foundation shrubs, a Leucothoe (aka dogshobble), had sent some exploratory branches out, and those branches were mostly hiding what I thought was a very attractive container.

The flowering raspberry was behaving
like, well, a raspberry bush

So, I went to the garage and got a pair of Felcos and a fabric barrel to trim back the errant branches. Which is when I noticed that almost all of the flowers on my flowering raspberry (Rubus odoratus), located a few feet away from the Leucothoe, were past bloom and needed to be cut off. So, I did that first.
Which is when I saw that the flowering raspberry was behaving like, well, a raspberry, and had sent out a dozen runners into the birch bed (a very nice Betula nigra). So, I pulled up the runners and placed then into the barrel. But, in doing so, I saw there was an infestation under the birch of jewel weed (impatiens capensis); a low-order nuisance because they pull out very easily. It’s almost as though they know they’re not supposed to be there and so don’t put up a fight.

Both the Kalmia and Leucothoe
had committed a no-no: they
had grown higher than the sill.

But, what they lacked in fight to survive, they more than made up in sheer numbers. There were hundreds of them all along either side of the thirty foot (or so) path between the birch bed and the foundation plantings. Because they reproduce so easily, I knew I needed to get them all out. A few that had access to sunlight were as tall as the about-to-bloom summersweet (Clethra alnifolia) which they has also colonized.
By now, the debris barrel was full and I emptied it in the compost pile. When I returned, I noted that mountain laurel (Kalmia ‘Sara’) along the house foundation also harbored jewel weed which needed to be pulled. But the Kalmia also was growing over the top of some very attractive (and expensive) coral bells (Heuchera) that had been planted as ‘boots and socks’ for the foundation shrubs.

I filled three barrels with debris

So, I carefully trimmed back the Kalmia to make it look as though it and the Heuchera had always co-existed peacefully. Stepping back to admire my work, I saw that the Kalmia also was transgressing in another – maybe even more serious – way: its height was six or eight inches above my home’s window sill. I have always believed that shrubs higher than a home’s window sills is the first step on the slippery slope to becoming a recluse.
So, I went in and carefully cut back the top of the Kalmia, making certain no one could ever think I has just sheared off the top eight inches willy-nilly. Each offending branch was trimmed individually so there was no protruding stem visible.

Order restored

And, of course, the two Leucothoes (which had long since grown together) also were above the window sills. I filled and emptied the debris barrel a second time. Since I was already hot and sweaty, I figured I might as well also provide a modicum of ‘space definition’ between the Kalmia and the Leucothoe. I gave the Kalmia the benefit of the doubt where the two shrubs had dueling branches.
Then, I was back at the front steps of my house. I carefully trimmed back the Leucothoe – pulling out several branches that had rooted within a foot of the containers – and reshaped the corner so there would be ample light. Oh, and I watered both containers well.

And, the container
garden has light!

So, all it took to give a jug of water to two urns filled with annuals was three hours to do six other things. I’m certain this – which I call the Cascade Effect – never happens in your garden. It is, unfortunately, an all-too-common occurrence in mine.