Three crowded golden spirea slowly baking and dying under the library window; I had pruned them and fed them and watered them. I even named them (Tom, Dick...Harry). But deep down, revealed to no one, I nursed a secret.
I hated them.
Dick was hauled out with a shovel in the spring and moved out to the perennial bed. I confess I forgot to water him, and after the summer we had I doubt he survived my tough 'love' policy. Tom and Harry were sitting pretty, so they thought, until I found a lovely little hydrangea plant on offer (hydrangea paniculata 'Jane') at the local garden centre.
What boy doesn't get nervous when a pert young lady walks into his room? What boy won't dig his heels in when the lady is set to kick him out of bed?
Thankfully for Jane, and my back, there was help at hand. And for those of you out there contemplating the removal of something too hefty for a shovel but to wee for a professional, may I reveal my ultimate gardening tool.
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| Okay, so it looks puny here, but Tom's roots went deep! |
I yanked those boys out and cheered over my wheelbarrow. Now they lie in the Jardin de Refuse and if they take root and grow, good for them. Jane is now sitting pretty at the front of the house and eagerly awaiting all the rock garden plants I'll be putting in next spring.
But before you go feeling sorry for Tom and Harry, they have had their revenge. Their removal knocked this onto the patio:
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| Adding insult to injury: Oh my, look at those weeds. |
and I tripped over it and twisted my ankle. I'll be limping my way to the garden centre for mulch today.
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| 'Jane' (wee lass on the left) rules supreme. |
Jane is accompanied by some wild garlic (may as well, it'll seed on its own, anyway), catchfly and moonflower. I'll replace the Black-Eyed Susan with sedum in the spring.
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