The English Cottage Garden Year 8 (Spring)

You know the moment. When the trimmer is put away, the garden hose is curled, and you look out to your yard thinking, Yes. This is exactly perfect. For most people, that moment lasts roughly 14 seconds.

The cottage garden is 8 years old this year.

The fence is 27 and looks it.

Exactly perfect is no longer an aspiration for my front yard, moderately upright is.

If the actual garden is a dewy ingenue running through a meadow, the picket fence is her grandfather in his housecoat yelling at a raccoon. The posts are rotted, the pickets are snapping and it's all being held up by a couple of metal T posts and an angry stare.

I've known this day was coming for the 6 years I've been ignoring it. The fence owes me nothing but it seems to be influencing the antique brick path which has also decided to go the dilapidated route. I can't have that. I can't have a fence that's encouraging the rest of the garden to fall apart. The whole front yard has taken on a bit of a Grey Gardens vibe when I'd prefer more of a Kennedy Compound—less raccoon, more regatta.

Luckily, the flowers are pulling enough focus to distract from the more decrepit elements. For now.

Right now, it's the time of year when everything is on the cusp. Just enough blooms to feel hopeful. Not so many that I can relax. Flowering at the moment: the ever-determined Hansa rose (which I hacked back like it owed me money and it came back stronger), Shirley Temple peonies who are obviously showing off for the rhubarb, Snow Goose poppies, catmint, alyssum, and cress.

The window boxes are just getting going. I grew and planted snapdragons, alyssum, heliotrope, petunias, and verbena in them. The pansies are still pretending it's spring, which is adorable. I’m letting them live the lie as long as they can. Once they pass out in July, the rest of the plants will fill in those spaces in the boxes.

I think.

Coming soon: dahlias, zinnias, celosia, amaranth, perennial sweet peas, phlox, marigolds, lavender, cosmos, daylilies (unless I finally act on my threats to pull them), and at least three things I’ll only remember when I see them bloom. Oh right. Bells of Ireland. Forgot those. Again.

You can read the list of all the dahlias I'm growing this year in this post from earlier in the spring.

I tried larger blocks of plantings this year. Not formal, just... less chaotic. Think crowd scenes, not soloists. The idea was to create visual calm among the chaos. Which is also why I have grass. Yes, grass. I know. It’s full of clover and dandelions, but it’s the thing that lets the flowers go a little wild without the whole space looking like I’ve abandoned society.

The lawn will get fixed when the fence does. It all needs a reset. There’s celery tucked into corners, cabbages hiding among alyssum, and a lone tomato that'll grow straight, flat up the fence. Like this. Every night I walk outside with another leftover seedling, stick it in a spot, and pretend it was intentional. Last night it was a marigold, the night before, radish seeds. If questioned, I call it a design style. Imperfect, naturalistic, organic. That usually shuts people up.

And by people I mean the ones in my head telling me the garden is a mess. Everyone who walks past only compliments it. Like Wilson. Wilson has never had a bad thing to say about my garden unpainted fence.

I'm trying very hard, with all of my might, to make THIS the year not a single plant goes unplanted. At the moment I don't really care whether they make it or not, I just don't want to be watch them die in their little pots under my care for the 27th year in a row.

The dahlias at home are under heavy protection this year. Last year half of them were systematically dismantled by rabbits, slugs, and earwigs. This year? Fortified. They’ve been wrapped in hardware cloth, watered, and are being monitored daily. I’ve only almost lost one. It’s still with us.

It's the uncovered dahlia below that looks like it should be playing for The Bad News Bears. There's a scraggy alyssum in front of it.

I also put up my DIY earwig traps that work a few days ago, and every morning they’re full of crawling earwigs. This always sends my emotional state into turmoil. Like hitting the jackpot on a slot machine that pays out in bugs.

In a few days, the apple espaliers will get their first prune of the season. It’s when I stop pretending I don’t have squirrels and start proactively outsmarting them with dollar store green plastic cloches. Not charming, but effective.

So that’s Year 8. Not perfect. But charming in spite of it. Like someone with spinach in their teeth who still somehow wins you over. I’ll post again when everything explodes into bloom. Until then, I’ll be outside sticking things in the ground and hoping for the best.

Still gardening. Still growing. Mostly flowers, occasionally resentment toward the sun and rain for not allowing me to control them.

Welcome to Year 8.