The best laid plans are the ones you can find again. —Ginny
Hooray! Hooray! Spring is creeping up one small green promise at a time. If I look closely, I can spot a crocus here, a bunch of wild onions there, a redbud plumping her buds. The plants are moving energy from their roots to their stems, leaves and blooms. In the same way, my deep need to lie around and eat cookies is being replaced by a rush of energy as the sun rises towards equinox. That means it’s time for the annual garden plan.
I keep records of all my gardening decisions. It’s a habit I started with my first unsuccessful attempts as I tried to figure out why things weren’t growing. Before drawing my new plan, I must find the old ones. I always put them somewhere that I won’t forget. After two hours of searching, I locate them in my sock drawer.
I study the maps of previous vegetable gardens. These scribbled plans are my way of outwitting blights, bugs and soil sappers. I rotate corn and beans, so the nitrogen stolen by the first can be replenished by the second. I avoid planting my tomatoes where my potatoes bloomed because they are attacked by the same pests.
Next, I consider détente. Some plants get along and some don’t. Marigolds champion tomatoes, nasturtiums nourish cucumbers, and corn shelters squash. On the other hand, garlic and peas squabble, and onions bully beans.
Finally, I think about my sister. She plans her plantings like an interior decorator; including plant heights, color swatches and bloom times in every decision. I tend to think more about what will grow with the least amount of work. Nevertheless, the vine tunnel that I planted last year was a result of her suggestion that I try to add more height to my garden. The plants never really embraced it, but the birds did. They found it the perfect perch to search for six-legged snacks, so I’ll keep it. I will also continue planting a three-foot-wide row of zinnias along the east edge of the garden, another one of my sister’s suggestions. Zinnias are beautiful and carefree, so they meet her criteria and mine.
With the vegetable garden well-planned, the next step is to consider what beds will need to be replaced. My favorite fuss-free flower border has developed a noxious case of invasive wild morning glory. After two years of wrangling the tangled vines, I am ready to kill off the whole thing and replant it. Tomorrow I will start digging out my favorite flowers to save for replacements after the vines die.
These roots and shoots are the ones from my very first successful garden. They are the progeny of the blooms that proved to me that it was walnut trees and not my black thumb that was killing off every plant I placed. I am sentimental about this bed because it is also the one I wrote my first column about.
When I am finished, I put my plan away. I hope I can find it again. The paper is crisp and beautiful, but I know by summer’s end it will be rained on and stained and tattered and torn. That’s when it will truly be the perfect plan.
END OF PREVIEW
The story above appears in our March/April 2019 issue. For more like it, subscribe today or log in to the digital edition with your active digital subscription.
