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Much of life involves making decisions. We make some good ones, take wrong turns on others and fail to act on still more. It’s better when a writer doesn’t drag himself into his columns, but, for the purpose of sharing some life lessons I’ve learned, I’ll speak in first person this time around.
I learned early on that gardening, for me, was an obsession. Some people like sports, others like crafts. I’ve loved gardening since I was 12. My dad was a college professor with a Ph.D. in botany. He was a patient and wonderful teacher. He was doing what he loved. He encouraged me to follow my heart and seek a way to make a living that would excite me, so that every day could be spent living that dream instead of "going to work." My passion became my vocation.
Mowing yards taught me the importance of planning. I learned about those 15 or 20 yards intimately — every tree, shrub and flower bed. I saw good designs and ragged ones. I learned that simplicity usually pays off and that "cute" usually isn’t. My father specialized in range ecology, so he worked with Texas-native plants for an entire career. He taught me that plants have specific needs and expectations, and that plants that are native to West Texas won’t necessarily thrive in eastern parts of the state.
Through this first part of my gardening life, I found that there are always people smarter than me. When I worked for the extension service, I never gave a talk on roses to the Rose Society, and when an odd problem arose, I quickly turned to my Texas A&M Extension Service specialist and Master Certified Nursery Professional friends for help. And I still do. We’re surrounded by people who know those precise sciences so much better than we can. I let them guide me.
I’ve learned that landscapes and gardens are moving targets. Things are never finished. About the time you think you have it all under control, a plant must be replaced. Changes happen. Think about them carefully and for a long time. But don’t look back once you decide to take out lanky, overgrown shrubs or unattractive trees. I’ve learned how easy it is for professionals to tear out walks, patios and even driveways and replace them with stunning new surfaces.
The longer we garden, the more we all come to appreciate those heirloom plants our great-grandmas grew successfully. Fortunately, many nurserymen have learned that we want these plants because they will thrive and survive here. They’re now much more available in conventional nurseries. Antique roses have shown the way. Other plants are following suit.
So, those are some of the good decisions I’ve made. What about the bad ones I am willing to admit?
I bought a box of those miserable little zoysia plugs I saw advertised in a tabloid somewhere. You’ve seen the ads — they tout the "miracle" grass that has to be mowed only twice a year. Well, that’s because the plugs don’t even survive. Zoysia can be a fine grass, but buy your grass from a local sod dealer, and ask plenty of questions.
You can’t use ammonium sulfate fertilizer to make a long-jump line in your lawn. I learned that when I was 8. I don’t need to try it again. It was two years before grass would venture back onto that bare soil. By then, my long-jumping career had ended.
Years back in my marriage, I decided I would line the driveway with crabapples. My wife loved their appearance (still does), and I thought they would be beautiful against our native Eastern Red Cedars. I bought 14 or 16 10-gallon trees. It was a couple of weeks before I could plant them. Much to my chagrin, when I went out to dig holes, cedar-apple rust had ruined those trees. The disease uses each species in part of its life cycle. While it doesn’t hurt Red Cedars, it killed those crabapples in a hurry. I had learned that in college, but I thought I knew better. Another lesson learned.
So, gardening isn’t any different from the rest of your life. You’ll make a lot of decisions. Ask plenty of questions to minimize your risks. While North Texas gardening does offer some challenges, the successes are sensational.