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July 6, 2021
The shadow of the gardener
I love the language and the lore that surrounds the world of gardening.
I particularly love the “proverbs”:
“Gardeners have the best dirt.” This comment is sewn onto a pillow that Sara keeps in our bedroom.
“If you have a garden and a library you have everything you need.” This sentiment, inscribed on a magnet that secures a photo to our refrigerator, turns out to have been said by Cicero.
“There are no happier folks than plant lovers and none more generous than those who garden.” I couldn’t agree more with this remark, articulated by Ernest “Chinese” Wilson, a notable British plant collector and explorer (some say “thief”) who introduced a large range of about 2000 Asian plant species to the West, including my beloved Acer griseum. Many are named after him. Sara and I visited the garden in Chipping Camden, his birthplace, that is dedicated to him.
“You can put a gardener behind the wheel, but you can’t keep her eyes off the landscape.” This comes from a Michigan garden designer, author and educator named Janet Macunovich, who is known as “the lady at the flower house, the one with no lawn.” I love this one because, whether driving or walking, I am always stopping to look at plants. My friend Joan once declared that walking with me during garden season was like walking a dog on a street lined with fire hydrants.
These last few days, however, I have been musing on a different “proverb,’ one whose origin is unknown: “The best fertilizer is the gardener’s shadow.” This phrase came into my mind last week when I went plant hunting with fellow master gardeners to get material for our demonstration gardens at the Cornell Cooperative Extension in Voorheesville. The temperature was 97 degrees, the sun was blazing, we were outside, and at a certain point I looked at my feet. Foolishly, I had worn sandals. The parts not covered by straps, which included my toes, were bright red. I began to stand in my own shadow, even if it meant my back was turned to the other hunters.
Luckily, these hot hot days were followed by cold and rain. We planted our purchases, watered them in, then let the rain complete the job. Now, post-rain, I go out to my own gardens and discover endless amounts of unwanted plant material which I label “weeds.” In particular, I find quantities of the extremely invasive Japanese bittersweet (Celastrus orbiculatus), a strangler that if left unpulled would kill sooner rather than later. My shadow precedes me as I do this work in the early morning hours, and so I muse on what it means to declare that my shadow is the best fertilizer for my garden.
I had, of course, learned from my efforts to garden at the cottage I owned at Warner’s Lake in Albany County where the soil was wretched and rocky that success in gardening comes primarily from having good soil. This lesson was reinforced by the class I took early in my studies at the Institute for Ecosystems Study called “Soil Science.”
My instructor, as given to hyperbole as myself, would regularly lean over his desk and, with both hands gripping the edge of his lectern, pronounce the sacred creed of gardeners: “The secret’s in the soil.” He taught me that disturbing the soil of a perennial garden by rototilling is a cardinal sin. Soil structure is complex, he explained, and takes a long time to get established. You don’t want to disrupt the process or the product. Top-dressing, gently spreading a 1” layer of compost on top of the garden bed, is the best option for improving the soil in perennial gardens.
When I moved to Columbine Drive, I set about to learn who had the best compost in the Capital District. I found Mariaville Peat, now, alas, permanently closed. I had their compost, made up of cow manure in sawdust bedding, delivered in 5 yard lots. I top-dressed each garden as I built it, disturbing existing soil only in the front where the soil had been severely compacted by construction vehicles. I did this year after year after year, until I had created the kind of soil I desired — a foot or more of rich, dark brown, easy-to-work with loam. this is now a gift to the aging gardener who can yank out and stick in with ease.
People tell me I have a green thumb. I tell them having a brown thumb is what counts. But, of course, my good soil is good for all kinds of plants, including those I don’t want. The Japanese bittersweet surely appreciates it, as do the oxalis, purslane, jewel weed, shepherd’s purse, thistle, horsetail, and creeping Charlie. As I bend and pull and shadow, I come to understand my proverb: I am saving the plants I love from being smothered by plants I don’t love. My care gives my beloveds the chance they need to survive and grow. Eventually they will fill the space and be themselves the smotherer of unbeloveds.
Some of my gardens have in fact reached maturity after so many years of enjoying my shadow. Despite my intention to create such a situation, I am amazed that it has happened. For these areas, I simply play referee, making sure each kind of plant gets the place and space it needs and does not crowd out its neighbors. But still I know that thistle and bittersweet and horsetail would soon rule everywhere if I did not regularly cast my shadow upon them. I can practically hear the baby bittersweets murmuring as pull them out, “Just you wait, just you wait, we will have our day.”
Even now the creeping Charlie (Glechoma hederacea) also known as ground-ivy, gill-over-the-ground, alehoof, tunhoof, catsfoot, field balm, and run-away-robin, is swarming my back lawn. A member of the mint family, whose vigorous self-promotion knows no bounds, it is, according to Wikipedia, used as a salad green in many countries and for this reason European settlers carried it around the world.
Here’s what Wikipedia has to say on the subject: “It is considered an aggressive invasive weed of woodlands and lawns in some parts of North America. In the absence of any biological control herbicides are relied upon, despite their drawbacks, particularly for woodland ecosystems. The plant’s extensive root system makes it difficult to eradicate by hand-pulling.”
You can say that again, Wiki. My shadow is not up to this job. I think Charlie knows I have sworn off herbicides this year and is testing my commitment. Am I willing to let my lawn become a mass of Glechoma hederacea or will I break my vow and call Peter to come and extinguish? I’ll let you know what I decide.
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