I spoke to a customer at the garden center who was frustrated that all the lupines that she’d planted over the past few years have died. I was sympathetic, because many gardeners in this area have trouble with this perennial. When I was living in Osterville I couldn’t keep them going either.

I explained that this tap-rooted perennial is short-lived, even when it’s happy. Four or five years is about how long a lupine plant lasts. If the plant finds the growing conditions favorable, however, it self-seeds and the new plants take over when the older ones die.

Lupine do not like rich, well amended soil, however. Give them compact clay or rocky, well drained soil and they may stick around…especially if they’re grown from seed.

My customer wasn’t happy with this information, however. She had amended her soil well, and wanted them to like her garden. After I repeated what I knew to be true about lupine, she frowned and said, “But I love them!”

As gardeners and humans on this planet, we learn that sometimes love isn’t enough. We can pour our affection, attention and longing into something, be it a person, plant or situation, and still the object of our affection may or may not thrive.

Our plants have a far more objective approach. Given the particular growing conditions they need, they will thrive. Sometimes they’ll even survive against all odds, but they would be the first to ask, “What’s love got to do with it?”

Last June I had many blue lupine and one coral flowering plant. This year, they are all blue. If I'm smart I'll scatter lots of seed that will germinate and bloom in various colors...knowing, of course, that what will be will be. My love of a variety of colors has nothing to do with what will, or will not grow here.

Several of my Facebook friends commented that they do indeed love Lupine polyphyllus. Frankly, I do too, but there are reasons why others might be frustrated with this plant.

When I gardened in the rock and clay of New York’s mid-Hudson Valley, the lupine I planted thrived. I’d leave a stalk or two to go to seed and each year there would be small plants among the larger ones. I noticed that after the plants grew their largest and most beautiful, they often died. I’d have a plant for five years and then it would be gone. Since the seedlings grew to take their place, however, this wasn’t a problem.

Most people on Cape Cod, where I currently garden, have sandy soil not clay, however, and they have a hard time keeping lupine alive longer than one season. In sand, the plant’s normal lifespan of about five years is reduced to one or two unless it’s planted in deeply amended soils.

Even when they self-seed the lupine may not stay where they’re planted; most self-seeders wander around the garden, often germinating in or right next to other plants, or in cracks in the driveway. Since they have a taproot, these out-of-place plants need to be moved when they are very small…once they are a year old they are less likely to survive transplanting. Such plants may not be for gardeners who have an exact place for everything and want everything in its place.

In the garden, and in so many areas of life, we are called to accept things, and work with them, as they are. Seldom is a plant, a person, or a workplace perfect, for example, even when there are aspects of that plant, person or workplace that we love.

Yes, I love lupine. I’m willing to plant new ones where I want them to grow, to accept that they may not seed in exactly the right place. I’m know that it might be necessary to purchase a few every year, or to start them from seed, if I want to be assured of a particular flower color. I am prepared to work for what I want, but at the same time to accept imperfection.

I love Lupine polyphyllus ‘The Pages’ because the flowers work with so many other colors. There are shades of coral, pink and purple in these blooms.

If you love blue and white combos, you'll like The Governor. This plant is one that I planted in the wild area at Poison Ivy Acres. I'm hoping that these lupine will self-seed in my clay soil, and fill the field on the path to the lake.