Why are we so enthusiastically addicted to petunias? And geraniums? And gladioli? And all things floral and screamingly colorful, easy to grow, which announce “I am here; I am planted: I have conquered my space with a little help from MiracleGro? Asked and answered. Asked and answered. Make a splash, pull out the stops, damn the hanging baskets, full speed ahead. Smother that bland green. Gain control of your surroundings in an insecure world.
I am here, gentle reader, to suggest to you that such need not be the case. Why is she writing in such a Brontean, Victorian style, you may ask. Because the concepts I am about to introduce were first beloved in that era of unassuming quiet when the mere rustle of chocolate-brown taffeta conjured notions of romance and the sparseness of the moors and a happy meadow of buttercups contrasted with the richness of a cultured rosegarden whose colors whispered against greenery. We try too hard to make a floral impression, we of the plastic surgery, multi-hundred dollar jeans generations. And the results are unnecessarily discordant, expensive and time-consuming.
Give yourself time to listen to the breeze and the birds, sit back in a non-designer rocker on a non-architected porch, and invest your horticultural dollars in the books stacked invitingly beside you. Work with nature, not against her, because, in case you are too stupid to have learned this --- nature always wins.
To be continued…
Causes Mara Buck Supports
Kennebec Valley Humane Society, Amnesty International