A case for boring plants
I stared at the dogwood, completely bored with it. It was perfect. Finally.
Pierre had taken me through the entire garden center looking for a shrub that would:
Provide structure.
Foil well against a yellow wall
Provide winter interest
Have an upright habit
Work well with the surrounding plants.
Ideally be native, but that was negotiable.
The shrub I needed would be assigned the delicate job of both joining and reining in the surrounding chaos. In D&D psychology, I think “Neutral Good” would best describe it.
Pierre said it would be the Marius Pontmercy of the garden. When I told him I had no idea what that meant, I received an impressive eye roll. I was sure they’d go all the way around.
In his Chaotic Neutral way, he shook off my ignorance, proffered his hand, and asked me to accompany him in a quest for the perfect shrub. The journey went something like this…
At this time, please employ the accent of a fiery Frenchman. A Belgian detective of classic literature would also do…you know the one.
Cotinus for the lady?
Could we offer you a bit of mystery this evening? A wisp of intrigue? You’ll feel the magic pulsing under the smoky essence of cotinus, or as we prefer, ‘smokebush.’ Her silky, curvaceous leaves tantalizes the senses.
Her deep purple richness will transform that mellow yellow wall into an all-occasion ochre. mwah Chef’s kiss.
Oh…no? Too ostentatious for your bedfellows? I see, I see. Shall we try something a little more tame?
An evergreen perhaps?
Who doesn’t love a clipped and chiseled structure? They are tall, green, and quite handsome. And don’t forget, they’ve got everything you’ve asked for.
Yes yes yes, you do pay more and he requires particular maintenance, but for the eyes? Anything, no?
No?
Doesn’t feel right and you have no idea why? I completely understand, madam. Let us search for perhaps something less, how you say? Terse?
Purple Ninebark?
How about a dark chocolate fountain? Intrigued, I see!
The arching branches of Little Devil Ninebark will douse the surrounding plants with cascades of deep purple. She even comes with her own marshmallows. Well, pinky-white clusters of umbelliferous flowers count as marshmallows, no?
I can see this has caught your eye. We shall take this bodacious multi-stemmed queen here in front? She’ll love the…
…what? Can she be pruned into an upright habit?
Madam, did you not hear about the chocolate fountain? I do not think we can make her chocolate flow upward. We are on planet earth! Liquid chocolate flows down! You silly, silly girl! I mean, madam…wise madam.
No, I am sorry, she will suffer greatly from that type of pruning. She will not be happy. And so you will not be happy.
Yes. I suppose we shall move on.
Time for reinforcements?
Do I know Adam Frost? Who is this ‘Adam Frost’? Is he related to the poet?
…poet of plants? Ridiculous.
No no, I said nothing. I’m sure we could write him a letter and he will respond with haste. After all, you are you. And he is he; it does not sound like he is too important for you. He is a presenter on what show? Ah yes Gardeners World. Let us write.
“Dear Adam Frost, Help! Love, Ellen.”
That is all? And you think he will understand this? Fine, we shall send.
In the meantime, how about the…
I have never heard a woman say “no” so quickly to me. Somehow I am not surprised you would scoff at the Burning Bush.
Non-native invasive, yes, yes. No need to yell. I am standing right here.
No, I will not help you write another letter, strongly worded or otherwise. And certainly not to my own employer. Let us move on, I beg of you.
No, I cannot remove these from the garden center, I have no control over what we sell. They would fire me. Actually….
Exits as quickly as he can while dragging three Burning Bushes out with him.
Keep trying.
Lordy that man was trying. I didn’t even ask for his help. I even said I’d prefer to shop alone.
Well if he wasn’t going to leave me alone, he’d certainly get my honest opinions.
I escorted myself to the native shrub section. Chokeberry…too much. Meadowsweet…too precious. Sumac…too big. But nestled between the Winterberry and the Spicebush, I found what I must have walked past three times, the dogwood.
There was absolutely nothing remarkable about it. If Pierre hadn’t left already, I’m sure this would have been his exit point.
It was a variety called Gray Huron. It's late summer bronzing was perfectly subtle. The leaf shape was pointed and soothing. It had a standard, garden variety bush habit that would reach 4-5’ tall. I watched all the boxes in my mental checklist get ticked off.
The underlying current in my gut bellowed a resounding, “yes!”
My ego protested but only briefly, “Really, though? Am I really intentionally dropping dollars on boring?”
Gut won.
And thank goodness, because when I plonked the plant in its spot in the garden, everything came together in a way I would have never expected. It was when Romeo met Juliet. Or when Arwen and Aragorn finally hugged at the end.
No no no. It was when Marius and Cosette first locked eyes.
Click. Boom.
Give boring a chance.
We’re often advised against settling for boring. After all, we have one life to live! Choose excitement!
So when I chose boring, it wasn’t easy. I felt like I was failing both myself and Pierre. I related hard to his adoration of the ostentatious, exciting plants. On their own, they are stars. But what would a star be without the vast expanses of nothingness surrounding them.
When I chose boring, I also chose balance and a point at which the eye could settle and relax. It offers an oasis to an otherwise uninterrupted excitement that dabbles in chaos. Without a place to stop and reset, it would all rot into stress and anxiety.
What can I say? Be brave. Give boring a chance. The appreciation for it will come.