A plant controversy

Grape hyacinth on my fence

Years ago, during a remodeling, we decided having dogs with access to the main driveway gate was not a good idea. Scooby, my beloved Aussie, would get so frantic if a storm was coming that he’d try to crawl into the gate, and I was afraid he’d get stuck and hurt himself. So, with the help of Lewis Bundock, the wonderful contractor who kept my house in good repair for years, we fenced off the driveway from the yard. Because I was pinching pennies, it was—and is—a four-foot hurricane fence. Not aesthetically pleasing, though I have to admit the openness it offers is a bonus as opposed to a solid wooden fence.

But it’s been an eyesore for years. One year I tried climbing roses, but they died. Then I tried to plant a vegetable garden of sorts in the tiny strip of land on the driveway side of the fence. The onions and lettuce died, even though a neighbor bought all the right soil, etc., and labored long and hard to put that garden in.

So this summer when a neighbor offered the community free grape hyacinth seeds and said they would grow anywhere, I took her up on the offer, with great gratitude. I couldn’t plant them, and I was unsure when anyone else in the household would get around to it. Plus, we had that track record of dead plants.

I mentioned the seeds to the young man who owns the lawn service, and he said, “Give them to me. I’ll have the guys plant them.” And he did—fifty dollars later. My free seeds were suddenly expensive. But I am not complaining, because the vines are growing and I’m quite sure otherwise the seeds would still be on my kitchen shelf.

This week, the vines began to bloom—a lovely, delicate pink, tiny bloom. I am delighted to look out my “garden” window and see them. But controversy has arisen: Christian went online, looked up grape hyacinth, and announced the plant is a creeper, not a climber. I have two amateur opinions that it is grape hyacinth. But if it’s blooming and softening the look of that metal fence, does it really matter? (After too many tries, I have given up trying to get the internet image posted--if you are interested, please google it; believe me, it looks nothing like what's on my fence.)

The vines are all sort of centered on the fence, but I am hopeful that they will branch out laterally as they continue to grow. Or maybe the plant reseeds itself abundantly. I figure we’ll give it a year to see what happens, but so far I am pleased with it.

And the bougainvillea, which seemed to suffer from the harsh winter, even though it was inside, has finally offered a few blooms. The pentas in front of the deck are lush and colorful, and the zoysia grass looks green and even, in spite of dog pee and poop—I despaired of it in the spring but apparently zoysia is slower to fill out than some other grasses. My lawn guy kept saying, “Patience. Give it some time.” He didn’t know, apparently, that patience is almost a useless word to use with me.

The plants—and I—were grateful for the rain this morning. Jacob, playing in a tournament on a golf course, was not so grateful. And now that we’ve gotten the yard in good shape, it’s too hot, humid, and buggy to sit out on the patio—not for me but for almost everyone else.

A handyman came today to look at all the little jobs we have accumulated—the flexible screen on my patio is torn and patched, and I have a replacement, but we needed it installed. Jordan looked but decided it was beyond her pay grade; Jacob inadvertently put a golf ball through one board in the fence beyond the driveway, but I notice tonight the gentleman took the board with him. The back door needs molding replaced where dogs have pawed at it to get inside, and the flag holder on the front porch was installed backward—Jordan claimed that one, but at least she tried. And then there’s a chandelier to be replaced with a ceiling fan and other small things. We miss Lewis Bundock something fierce but will be glad to have a reliable replacement.

And so, summer life rolls on. We are still fortunate with weather, and still grateful. I read with great sympathy and concern about heat and fires in other parts of the country. I worry about my children’s half-sister in California, who was burned out last year, but so far, she had not mentioned fires near them. The abstract horror becomes much more real when it hits someone you care about.

Sweet dreams, everyone—dream of flowers, not fires.