LILIES by Tanya McNutt
butSpring and summer, aka the two growing seasons, seem to be riddled with a lot of death and destruction. I stood crestfallen before my gardens this morning, surveying the ruin after the deer had feasted on my prized plants. I wondered why I do this every year. Einstein said only a fool does the same thing over and over expecting a different outcome, so I guess I’m a class A fool. I suppose, each year, I hope for a different result but I’m forsaken time and time again.
This year was a trifecta of misfortunes. I watched my hard work be destroyed in spring when the four legged apocalypse decimated my prized lily foliage, dining on the tender shoots as the leaves poked their heads out of the ground, chewing the slender leaves down to nubs. Sure the leaves continued to grow but were now pointless, literally and figuratively. What I love most about this graceful plant are the long and graceful leaves, the flowers are secondary.
Speaking of flowers, a few nights ago, the deer descended the back hill and devoured hundreds of newly forming buds, leaving one or two per plant so I’ll know what colour and type of lily they would have been, a sample to show what I’ll be missing. Oh why am I kidding myself, it’s just a tease, they’ll be back in a few days to claim what’s left.
For years my lilies were safe but now the deer have acquired a taste for them. The book says they eat bark and woodland foliage, since when did they crave something more exotic? On the path to my house, they passed a smorgasbord of delights to feast on, but no, the last stop on their journey before the road and the harbour is Chez Christine’s, All You Can Eat Salad Bar, so tell all your friends. I see they’ve started eating the flowers on my hostas too, which is okay as long as they leave the leaves alone, once again I like the variegated foliage more. I know its only a matter of time before I come out one morning and one of my giant four foot round hostas looking like it had a brush cut. I planted these back in the day when I was ignorant of what plants deer prefer so I live with the consequences and whine when it happens.
Spring remained cold this year, or so it seemed. It took a while for winter to leave but as soon as the weather warmed enough to work outside I spent days on my knees removing last year’s dead matter and weeding the new growth already encircling my plants like armies converging on a castle. Our soil is super rich so weeds grow at a faster rate and dwarf the plants quickly, choking out and strangling their vitality, stunting their growth so they produce less flower heads.
I worked hard and the gardens were pruned and preened of the interlopers and I thought I would wait a week before I lay down the weed cloth, newspaper and mulch, figuring I’d have one more go at the grass roots that are long and interwoven under the soil, tentacles that reach out and shoot up all over the dang place. But, the best laid plans and he who hesitates is lost was never truer because the rains came, and came and came some more. Each droplet a torrential weapon, beating the tender shoots now soggy and limp, into the ground. It rained as if an ark might appear over the horizon.
Weeds love rain. They survive nicely without the sun, thrive actually with amazing speed, they shot up out of the dirt and dwarfed the plants around them in a matter of two weeks. There is grass over a foot higher than my peony bushes which stand at least three feet high. The grass and weeds came back bigger and better than before. It was disheartening watching from the kitchen window as my gardens were overran with the unwanted.
Then the final scourge; the winds. Just as the plants recovered and grew after the weeks of rain, it blew like stink for days. Timed perfectly with the blooming peonies, irises and poppies, they smashed the delicate flower heads into the ground, the dirt fracturing and then rotting their delicate petals. All of their essence and beauty beaten into the earth, lying limp and helpless around me. I rescued some of the peonies for a small bouquet but the other flowers were too frail and damaged to revive.
So why do I put in the effort when the rewards are snatched away time and again. Every year I shake my head and say I won’t do this again, but then I forget over winter and dream about all the beauty and colour that will bloom for my pleasure. I love flowers. I love pretty things. I especially love the smell of peonies so much so I have eight plants of varying colours to enjoy. If only I could.
I could erect a fence to solve the deer problem but mother nature is a different story. I love her when she’s kind, respect her when she’s mean, and know it isn’t personal, but really, give us a break mother! The weather seems to be harsher and less predictable, perhaps it’s time to put my efforts into something more guaranteed like planting flowering shrubs that withstand weather better and don’t require as much attention as their fairer cousins the perennials…..
This year was a trifecta of misfortunes. I watched my hard work be destroyed in spring when the four legged apocalypse decimated my prized lily foliage, dining on the tender shoots as the leaves poked their heads out of the ground, chewing the slender leaves down to nubs. Sure the leaves continued to grow but were now pointless, literally and figuratively. What I love most about this graceful plant are the long and graceful leaves, the flowers are secondary.
Speaking of flowers, a few nights ago, the deer descended the back hill and devoured hundreds of newly forming buds, leaving one or two per plant so I’ll know what colour and type of lily they would have been, a sample to show what I’ll be missing. Oh why am I kidding myself, it’s just a tease, they’ll be back in a few days to claim what’s left.
For years my lilies were safe but now the deer have acquired a taste for them. The book says they eat bark and woodland foliage, since when did they crave something more exotic? On the path to my house, they passed a smorgasbord of delights to feast on, but no, the last stop on their journey before the road and the harbour is Chez Christine’s, All You Can Eat Salad Bar, so tell all your friends. I see they’ve started eating the flowers on my hostas too, which is okay as long as they leave the leaves alone, once again I like the variegated foliage more. I know its only a matter of time before I come out one morning and one of my giant four foot round hostas looking like it had a brush cut. I planted these back in the day when I was ignorant of what plants deer prefer so I live with the consequences and whine when it happens.
Spring remained cold this year, or so it seemed. It took a while for winter to leave but as soon as the weather warmed enough to work outside I spent days on my knees removing last year’s dead matter and weeding the new growth already encircling my plants like armies converging on a castle. Our soil is super rich so weeds grow at a faster rate and dwarf the plants quickly, choking out and strangling their vitality, stunting their growth so they produce less flower heads.
I worked hard and the gardens were pruned and preened of the interlopers and I thought I would wait a week before I lay down the weed cloth, newspaper and mulch, figuring I’d have one more go at the grass roots that are long and interwoven under the soil, tentacles that reach out and shoot up all over the dang place. But, the best laid plans and he who hesitates is lost was never truer because the rains came, and came and came some more. Each droplet a torrential weapon, beating the tender shoots now soggy and limp, into the ground. It rained as if an ark might appear over the horizon.
Weeds love rain. They survive nicely without the sun, thrive actually with amazing speed, they shot up out of the dirt and dwarfed the plants around them in a matter of two weeks. There is grass over a foot higher than my peony bushes which stand at least three feet high. The grass and weeds came back bigger and better than before. It was disheartening watching from the kitchen window as my gardens were overran with the unwanted.
Then the final scourge; the winds. Just as the plants recovered and grew after the weeks of rain, it blew like stink for days. Timed perfectly with the blooming peonies, irises and poppies, they smashed the delicate flower heads into the ground, the dirt fracturing and then rotting their delicate petals. All of their essence and beauty beaten into the earth, lying limp and helpless around me. I rescued some of the peonies for a small bouquet but the other flowers were too frail and damaged to revive.
So why do I put in the effort when the rewards are snatched away time and again. Every year I shake my head and say I won’t do this again, but then I forget over winter and dream about all the beauty and colour that will bloom for my pleasure. I love flowers. I love pretty things. I especially love the smell of peonies so much so I have eight plants of varying colours to enjoy. If only I could.
I could erect a fence to solve the deer problem but mother nature is a different story. I love her when she’s kind, respect her when she’s mean, and know it isn’t personal, but really, give us a break mother! The weather seems to be harsher and less predictable, perhaps it’s time to put my efforts into something more guaranteed like planting flowering shrubs that withstand weather better and don’t require as much attention as their fairer cousins the perennials…..
LILIES by June Gorman Whynott
LILIES by ME
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