I did a stint at the Master Garden Demonstration garden tonight at the Barnstable County Fair. The Master Gardeners staff the demo garden, answering questions and getting kids and adults interested in gardening. It’s always fun to first tour the fair looking at the animals, and then showing a child where the seeds are forming under the spent marigold flowers.

One particular exchange was especially interesting tonight. A woman came up to us, asking about a problem that she was having with hydroponic fruit production. It seemed that she and her husband had some insect damage that they have been unable, so far, to organically control. “I’ve asked everyone and so far no one has been able to help me,” she said.

I began by suggesting some people she could call. “Oh, they won’t know about this,” she responded. Since the people I was recommending were entomologists, I was pretty sure that they would at least be familiar with her problem, but I continued to propose other solutions based on the insect’s life cycle, feeding habits etc.

All suggestions of approach A, B and C were met with protestations of why these wouldn’t or couldn’t work. I knew I wasn’t offering her any quick and easy cures, but what I was suggesting were other ways to think about the problem, and different paths that might lead her to a satisfactory control.

She was having none of it. Finally, I looked her in the eye and said something about not always being able to get what we want. I’m sure that she didn’t hear this, just as she didn’t hear any of my other thoughts. I realized that she was more attached to having the problem, and continuing to do exactly what she has been doing, than she was with actually changing the situation.

This woman isn’t alone… all of us have had periods of being so identified with the difficulty that we’re reluctant to go beyond it. It’s a very seductive position to be in. The dilemma is known and so it has become comfortable. Finding a solution might mean more change than we’re happy about…it could ask us to look closely at more than just this one problem.

Note to self: When I’m tempted to list all of the reasons I can’t change something, remember this night in the Master Gardener Demonstration Garden and ask: Is there really no solution, or is remaining stuck in the predicament just more comfortable?

One of the plants in the demo garden that always draws attention is the artichokes.

I love the animals at the fair. How can you not love this pair?

It's open through Saturday - go!

I’ve started three landscapes “from scratch.”  We purchased all three houses already finished, but they had minimal to non-existent landscaping. I made all the usual beginners mistakes on the mid-Hudson valley property: I planted things too close together, I didn’t have a plan but would plunk anything in any empty spot, I bought pass-along-plants (aka pass-along-problems) at plant sales, and discovered that weeds will grow everywhere.

On the second property I was more discerning…sort of. I remember that one of the first inspirational garden books I purchased was Nigel Colborn’s Shortcuts to Great Gardens. It was a bit deceiving, because all of the gardens pictured took years to develop and grow – no shortcuts here – but it remains inspiring today.

Now into my third summer on Poison Ivy Acres, I am using what I’ve learned and making new mistakes.

When we begin any new project, inspiration is good, experience is valuable, but errors will be made. That shouldn’t stop us. Have the courage to start down a path without shortcuts, hopefully with a plan and the help of others, but always with faith, hope and determination.

The landscape wasn't completely bare, mind you.

But here you can see that we extended the patio, planted the perennial border, and...

moved that cement square out into the fragrance garden in hopes of a future hot tub. (There's a tiny corner of it showing on the left side of this photo) Then we (my husband) built the grape arbor, that is connected to the house by the new patio area.

Finding a new plant, putting it into the garden, and watching it grow is one of the pleasures of a gardening life. It occasionally happens that the plant turns out to be a dud at best or invasive at worst, but most of the time that experience of discovery is interesting and pleasurable.

Because they change and grow, there is always an element of surprise in learning about a new plant. Our selection might have one habit in the pot, but develop very differently in the garden. Anyone who has planted an aster fresh from the garden center in the fall, and watched it change from a full, clipped and growth-regulated dome into a six-foot, leggy wild child the following year has experienced this sort of shock.

Other changes aren’t as astonishing or unpleasant. I bought my Stewartia for the peeling bark and white flowers, only to be delighted by the spring buds and fall foliage color.

What if we assumed that every new venture, relationship or experience would also change, grow, and take on a life of its own? Isn’t it a given, just as it is for plants? We can no more be static at work or in a friendship than we can prevent a shrub from getting larger, yet there are times when we think we can keep all from changing.

Looking at my Quick Fire Hydrangea, and enjoying the process of getting to know how it develops over time, I remind myself to take that same spirit of discovery into all aspects of life.

This is my young Quick Fire Hydrangea. It has been in flower for almost two weeks, and today I can see hints of pink among the white petals. This shrub blooms on new growth, so it will flower even if pruned back in the spring.

I just chopped down the Tradescantia ‘Sweet Kate’ because it was entering that not-so-many-flowers-ratty-foliage stage. I had some tiny ‘Purple Lady’ Iresine, grown from seed, that have been patiently waiting in their plug trays, so I planted those in the empty spaces. It is time for some mid-summer renewal.

I’d like to see this in my life as well: to have the ability, even in the time of flowering, to reinvent and restore. To cut out some things that are less than perfect and to plant others, even though it may seem late to do so.

This is not always easy I’m the first to say. It’s tempting to focus on the garden as a whole, and I’m speaking both literally and metaphorically here, and be content not to fine-tune if, overall, things are growing well. In the garden and in life, however, I think I’d rather push the limits…to see what else can be cultivated.

I have two ebooks that are partially finished…time to make a bigger push with those. I’ve been sitting on some speaking footage thinking, “I really need to get clips of these up on YouTube,” so perhaps it’s time to admit that I don’t have time to edit these myself and hire someone to do so.

You may not be a writer or a speaker with unfinished projects, but I am willing to bet that every reader of this blog, and believe me I cherish you all, has something, or several things, on their to-do or to-try list. (If you don’t, email me and I’ll send you some of mine.)

There are times to sit back and enjoy what we’ve planted, but just as we can start over in small sections of the garden, even in the height of the growing season, it’s always possible to cultivate something new at work, in our homes, with family or friends, or just for ourselves.

It’s early July: time to ask ourselves, What do I want to renew?

Here's the lakeside bed, and 'Sweet Kate' to right of 'Georgia Peach' Heuchera. This is how it looked in mid-June.

Now the 'Sweet Kate' is cut down, and there are tiny new 'Purple Lady' Iresine around them. I figure that by the time the 'Sweet Kate' sprouts and grows again, the 'Purple Lady' will be moving across this area and we'll see just who is sweet and who is a lady.

Tomorrow is June 1^st. Every year at this time I remember my friend Cia telling me that someone she knew hated June because “it’s so green.” Although I don’t dislike June (too green?)  I agree that this month is an in-your-face, all-out-growth time of year.

I think that the challenge is to take it all in. Not only is the foliage green and lush, but the peonies are over-the-top fragrant and the poppies are practically screaming “Let’s put on lipstick and go out!” In June life is so exuberant and grand that it’s hard to properly absorb and appreciate it.

It’s not wonder that one of the well known tunes from the Rogers and Hammerstein musical Carousel is “June is Bustin’ Out All Over.” It absolutely is.

How can we best use and be grateful for this most abundant month? For me, it’s a matter of first stopping my high-speed planting to value what is here. But beyond the garden, June is a reminder to notice all of the areas of growth and abundance in our lives.

For family, work, friends, faith, spirit, gardens, pets, challenges and opportunities for growth, I am thankful. Life is bustin’ out all over, and is so very green.

Every day something new bursts into flower. The 'Belgica' honeysuckle, 'Collette' climbing rose, and the Siberian Iris... and more. I take a deep breath of appreciation and just try to take it all in.

I did a landscape consultation today for a couple who was conflicted between themselves about how much to change. One member of this union wanted it all to stay the same forever and ever, and the other wanted to make changes and lots of them.

Part of the conflict was that the existing plants were put in by a relative, and perhaps have come to stand for that loved one. Most gardeners can relate to this sentimentality, I think; we’ve all grown a plant that was given to us by someone else, and often the donor is no longer with us. We remember loved ones through our gardens, certainly.

But a shrub, perennial or tree is not person, and I for one believe that we’re often much closer to that lost friend than we think… we don’t need plants to act as an intermediary. Some plants look great forever and are both an asset in the garden and a reminder of those we love. Other plants don’t improve with age. In the case of ugly or overgrown plants, the best thing to do is to clear the space and start again. With gratitude.

Gardens are constantly changing, and like it or not, our lives are too. Saying hello and goodbye to plants parallels our experience with people and everything else. We can’t cling and always keep things exactly the same. What we can do is to be grateful for the people and plants we have loved, and to embrace the circle of life, change and all.

Note to my dear children and (please God) grandchildren: should you decide to keep this house when we are gone, know that nothing here is sacred. I am a gardener, and I know that gardens always change. You can rip out this entry garden and replace it with lawn or ground cover, and living or dead, I won't be insulted. A garden is about growth, and change takes root in many directions.

As I watered pots of perennials at the garden center today, I noticed a woman who was loading her cart with pots of blooming plants. “What does well in shade and has pink flowers?” she called to me. “Astilbes,” I answered. “Don’t tell me names,” she replied, “they mean nothing to me. Show me what it looks like.”

So I led this customer to the perennial shade frame and began showing her different plants. At one point she picked up a Pulmonaria that was in bloom and said, “This blooms all summer, right?”

“No,” I answered, “It’s a spring bloomer,” and I watched her drop the pot so quickly that I thought it must have been burning her fingers.

The fact is, none of the plants that she’d loaded on her cart would bloom all summer. They’re called “spring bloomers” for a reason. And to my mind, one of the reasons to choose perennials is that you can have different flowers in the garden each month.

If you want plants that will be in bloom from mid-May through the fall, plant annuals. That’s what they are good at. But one of the reasons to have a varied selection of perennials is that your garden will change from month ot month. Perennials provide a kaleidoscope of foliage and flower color, so that the garden is always changing.

How often in our lives do we gravitate toward the sure thing, when transition and change is truly much more interesting?

The bright yellow flowers of Aurinia saxatilis are beautiful, but I think that I appreciate them more because they are only in my garden in the spring.

When we bought the house at Poison Ivy Acres, there was a hydrangea planted under the kitchen window. It was November when we closed on the sale, and as I walked around the property, assessing the plants that were there, I saw from the dried flowers that this was a lacecap. “Hmmm, a lacecap,” I thought, “I’ll have to dig that out of there next spring.”

My experience with lacecap hydrangeas to that point had been with Hydrangea macrophylla varieties, and I wasn’t impressed. The varieties I’d grown had very short-lived flowers that faded even more quickly in direct sun.

Although I intended to remove this unknown lacecap in my new property, I didn’t get around to it the first summer. There were so many other beds to establish and perennials, shrubs and trees to plant. It’s a good thing too, because I was able to watch this hydrangea through a complete season, and I was totally impressed.

In late June, the center, fertile flowers were blue while the larger, infertile petals were white. As the season progressed, all turned pink and then red, and the plant held these flowers through September. In late October the foliage was equally colorful, and I realized that this was a spectacular plant.

For the past two years I wondered what variety of hydrangea I had, and today I got around to asking an expert about this plant. I emailed Mal Condon, of the Nantucket Hydrangea Nursery, and sent him photos of my plant. He responded that I had a Hydrangea serrata ‘Grayswood’, a “very floriferous and reliable variety” that is “not that common but a good choice, particularly for the colder inland zone 6 garden.”

I’m happy to know what I have, since I’d like to recommend this variety to others. I’m also pleased to have the opportunity to get over my prejudices and opinions.

Sometimes we just have to get over ourselves.

Here's how Grayswood looks in July.

All through August the flowers turn pink and then red. Here's how the shrub looks in September.

And it has great fall foliage color in October! I love this plant!

Yesterday about 20 inches of snow fell on Poison Ivy Acres. It’s hard to judge the exact amount because the wind’s sculpting of the snowfall…some places it’s a foot deep, while in other areas the drifts are over three feet.

I’ve always said that I love a good snowstorm because it’s the only thing that stops everything these days…at least on a local level. Normally, you can find a store open every day of the year, and we can work, work, work all the time. But when the snow falls fast and deep, everything is closed and canceled.

That said, imagine my surprise when I find that I’m not too tolerant of the weather after all. Our driveway didn’t get plowed until 2 PM. What? I have to change my plans? I can’t see Mel and Mary today but need to rearrange my week and fit them in later? The last minute gifts I was taking to the post office? Not happening.

There are articles and book proposals to write, houseplants to water, gifts to wrap, and sweets to bake, but can I concentrate on any of that? No…all I can think about are the things that I can’t do.

It is the winter solstice, I say to myself…a time when I should be focusing on the paradox of embracing the darkest day of the year, and the point when light begins to return to the earth.

Oh….right. I guess I am. In recognizing that this snowfall is a gift, and as I fight that it also forces me to adapt and change, I embrace both the darkness and the return of the light.

A deep snowfall does more than stop commerce…it forces me to be accepting, flexible, and patient.

The snow drifts across the garden shed - we won't be able to open the door unless we shovel, or wait until the snow melts.

Does being a gardener mean you’re better able to accept change? Please, God, let it be true.

I spent the entire day with elderly neighbors, driving off-Cape to pick them up, then driving them back to the Cape to visit another assisted living facility, then returning them back across the bridge. And those of you who live on the Cape know what crossing the bridge is like in these days of one-lane repair work.

Here’s the gist of it: the assisted living place we visited today is much nicer than the facility where they live now, and the residents are treated with much more respect. And, saints be praised, it’s less expensive than their current retirement home. I’m talking about thirteen hundred dollars less per month. But by the end of the day, I knew that this elderly couple won’t make the move. Why? Because they can’t deal with change.

I get that it’s harder when a person is old. But I’m hoping that being intimately involved with the seasons and plants might make me a bit more adaptable when I’m elderly.

After spending the day with the back and forth, eating lunch with my neighbors who have no family to do this for them, and then coming back to Poison Ivy Acres, I needed even a small dose of the garden.

Even before looking at my email or sitting down to write my article for Prime Time…even before unloading the groceries I picked up on the way home, I grabbed a trowel and the two bags of bulbs that have been sitting in my garage, and headed out to the garden. It was getting dark, but the fifty starflowers (Ipheion uniflorum) got planted. Then I grabbed my camera and took a slow walk around the gardens.

When I’m old I don’t know if I’ll be any more able to change than my elderly neighbors are, but I hope that gardens always have the power to sooth me.

I finished planting my bulbs, went in to grab the camera and take a few quick shots as the sun set, and then I went in to unload the groceries and check email.