Sunday, March 25, 2012


The looming War of the Scotch Broom Succession demanded drastic measures.

One might say they were of the divine intervention sort.

While Provence Lavender surveyed an invasion along the north-eastern flank, Kalmia latifolia Minuet (Minuet Mountain Laurel) wished not to be upstaged and so began planning a full frontal assault. The boxwoods--a privy council if I ever encountered one--gave no indication on whose side they offered clandestine support, thinking, I assume, that they would need to ingratiate themselves to whomever assumed the throne. Why get involved? (I could hear their whispering.)

In the meantime, it seems that ground forces of the Northern Sea Oats Grass had already made considerable headway into the Scotch Broom's promontory, making it seem highly likely a bloody battle for the succession would soon erupt. The gardening god frowned upon a mass invasion. Indeed, the gardening god ordained defeat.

But first, the funeral.

Lena Scotch Broom's corpse was quickly and nearly effortlessly disassembled and removed for interment elsewhere. The garden stood still as the dead was ceremoniously and neatly placed on the walkway, care taken to align her major limbs to make the final processional to the compost heap an efficient one.

But the ramparts, the gardening god discovered, were overtaken by mass reinforcements sent in by Northern Sea Oats Grass. Swift action had to be taken, even though said gardening god wore fairly nice clothes.

Yet the work of the divine is always a bit dirty, and so the clothes remained.

And in came the thunderbolts from heaven, delivered in the form of shovels and pruners!

The swarm of Northern Sea Oats Grass occupiers were undermined with a few maneuvers of the shovel.

A mass hole was created. The gardening god looked first to Provence, and then to Kalmia latifolia.

But a surprising development occurred. The garden subjects bowed down and hailed their new monarch. A soft wind drew the attention of the gardening god to said monarch.

Gardening god worked the shovel around the new leader, carried him over, planted and watered him, and there he was, anointed, proud, looking smart against a backdrop of Emerald and Green Ice Boxwoods, and itself a background for Tulipa kaufmanniana Corona, a veritable saint-cum-kind: St. John's Wort.

Yes: his regal burgundy colored garb gave him away, yet this gardening god, too preoccupied with other matters, failed to see the obvious choice.

The coronation is complete, and a new reign begins.

Long live Hypericum the saint!

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