Flashback Friday - Landscape Look

Never having shed my hippie-like spirit (or tie-dyed apparel) I knew I might not fit into the suburban community where we purchased a house some years ago. The obvious answer, and the easiest (I thought at the time) was to update the landscaping.



Problem was: I didn’t know my annuals from my perennials or my black-eyed susans from my brown-eyed girls. So I sought some gardening advice.

"How do we get rid of those bushes?" I asked one neighbor.
"You mean Yews?"
"Yes, us."
"No, Yews."
"Yes. We’re doing it ourselves."
"No Yews, the bushes, Japanese Yews."
"Oh. You mean those Yews. Yes, Yews."

We bypassed the chain-the-bushes-to-the-back-of-your-van-and-hope-your-bumper-doesn’t-fall-off method one person suggested and decided to do it the old- fashioned way. With a saw and shovel.

The next question was topsoil. How much do we need? I asked around. One friend gave us a formula. To get the cubic footage measure the area, multiply by six, subtract by two and divide by a-third of the amount of deductions you claimed on you 2003 tax return. I decided to call a professional. I found out they could deliver four tones for just over a hundred dollars. I’m no math expert, but I know that four tons is about 8,000 backaches. We settled on 1200 backaches.

Our biggest problem was what to plant in our new backaches.

“Evergreens,” said my neighbor to the right. “They give you color in the winter.”
Well, I didn’t want to be the only one in the neighborhood with no color in the winter. So I bought a few balsam firs.

“Perennials are the way to go,” said another neighbor. Make sure you have something blooming for each season.
I didn’t want to be bloomless this summer, so I bought some daylilies.

“Think Beatrice Potter,” said my friend two doors down. “Think light. Think whimsical. Your house is cottage-like. You need flowering shrubs. Azalea, rhododendron. They say ‘you.’”

How could I not want something to say ‘me’? So I bought some rhododendrons.

“Keep it simple. Keep it clean,” my shrub friend said when she saw the rhododendrons. “Rhodos are too twiggy. You need something substantial against your house. I’m a big boxwood fan myself.”
"But what about blossoms, what about color?” I said in a panic.
“Get your color from hanging baskets,” she replied. “Concentrate on substantial foliage.”

But substantial bushes cost substantial bucks. So I bought a soon-to-be-sometime-in-about-sixty-years-substantial-bush. It was the size of a baseball.

I planted and dug up and planted and rearranged and still, something looked off.

“When in doubt, plant hosta,” said one friend. “They’re hardy and versatile. Try putting some impatiens between them for a lovely effect.” When another neighbor saw the hostas she told me to dig them up. “Hostas are boring,” she said. “They’re common. Look around. This whole neighborhood has been taken hosta.”

I decided then to halt all advice and take matters into my own hands. I drove around the streets and checked out as many landscapes as I could in a thirty-mile radius. What I saw were four distinct styles:

--the bushes the size of Nebraska look

--the perennials out to the curb look

--the small shrubs on cedar mulch look

--the low ground cover so you don’t have to mow the lawn look

“What’s my look?” I asked my Buddhist Friend. “I’m all mixed up! I don’t have a look! I need to have a look!”

And then she gave me the best advice yet: “Gardening takes patience,” she said. “Wait a year or two and see how things grow in.”

Since I definitely needed a break, I took her advice. And some years later, I find I’m pleased with the result, especially in the spring.



So now I ‘m looking at paint swatches so I can redo my kitchen. But please, don’t tell my neighbors.

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