How I transformed a garage wall from drab to fab with help from the Lord of the Rings

(pro-tip: “Fab” definitely exists both in Middle Earth and the Middle Garden.)

There’s a time and a place for a hedgerow, but it is certainly not in front of the garage wall my eyeballs are forced to look at from the kitchen window. What a bland, uninspiring view. I don’t relish hating on a plant, but of course, of course, they were Privets. Which immediately made me think of Privet Drive and the Dursleys.

Just like a hedgerow, Privet can have its time and its place. They’re decent at absorbing carbon dioxide, I hear. But again, the place was not in front of my garage wall, and the time was not now. They must have suited the non-gardeners who lived here before me; I’m sure they kept the hedge neatly trimmed and chemically treated, poor dears (I’m trying very hard not to judge).

There were six shrubs total. Behind them, the garage wall was covered in peeling poop-brown paint through which peeked a barnyard red, clashing magnificently with the red roof. Dear previous owners, what were you thinking?

What can be done against such reckless taste?

Eventually, my eyes could bear the sight no longer. I tried to enlist help from our contractor’s brother who “did landscaping,” but after several unreturned calls, I gave up. Perhaps too easily. I summoned my inner stubborn Scorpio and declared, “Fine. I’ll dig them out myself.”

Cut to a scene in a distant memory…

The first shrub I ever dug up - years ago - was a Flowering Quince. In the right place, it could’ve been fantastic, but of course it wasn’t in the right place. Digging it up nearly broke my gardening spirit. The root ball was enormous, with thick arms tunneling in every possible direction. My neighbor finally took pity on me after I’d been at it for hours. He tied the stubborn root ball to his truck, and heaved forward until the ever-loving quince surrendered. But till the day we moved, quince shoots continued to rise from its gravesite.

Ever since, I have dreaded digging out shrubs. But none I’ve encountered since have been quite as stubborn. What an absolute beast.

And we’re back on the Eve of Battle…

So when I sized up the Privet, I felt like I was staring down a hedgerow of Orcs. But I was well-hydrated, well-booted, and Lady Galadriel had just handed me some dry bread. Axe (loppers) in one hand, shield (shovel) in the other, I blew the horn of Gondor and charged.

Well… I started hacking at the weakest shrub on the far end. But it wasn’t so bad! I got it out in about an hour. Maybe I should’ve used a Star Wars analogy instead—do Stormtroopers go down easier than Orcs? Fantasy/Science Fiction nerds, please respond.

Book II…The Two Year Old

Just as I triumphantly uprooted the first Privet Orc, the next challenge revealed itself: rocks. An unholy mass of small. fucking. rocks. This job needed reinforcements, so I called in the big guns: my two-and-a-half-foot two-year-old. If ever there was a time for child labor, this was… not it. She collected maybe 20 rocks before declaring she was going off to find worms.

“But Ada, I bet there are worms under these rocks!”

“No! I go find worms.”

“Under the rocks?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“The ring is MINE!”

“No, Mr. Frodo!”

After that, I could think of no more efficient way to remove the rocks than picking them out one by one, bucket by bucket. I tried raking and shoveling to no better avail. I had become the Orc. One of those gross ones that slobbers while doing grunt work and always wants man-flesh (half of that is true).

Book III: The Return of the Wall

Slowly, shrubs were dug up. Slowly, the rock stockpile diminished. It was time now for the real task: scraping and painting the garage wall.

This time, I was Aragorn because, yes, man-flesh, but also: I am the true heir to the kingdom of this wall. No one else can do this for me. Our neighbors to the North will need to temporarily shield their eyes from the brutish scene. Over the following weeks (months?), I attacked that wall with a paint scraper, a five-in-one tool, an oscillating tool, a sander, paint remover, and way too much elbow grease. Delays piled up: finger stitches, norovirus, a rare (benign) diagnosis, two different guest visits, and general exhaustion.

But did the age of men come crashing down under Aragorn’s watch? No. Nor did it under mine. When the old paint was scraped within an inch of its life, I finally started brushing on primer. It was as satisfying as Fangorn Forest overtaking the fleeing Orcs at Helm’s Deep.

Finding a decent accent color to complement the remaining poop brown walls and red roof was expectedly difficult. A good option would have been a shade of green, but as the plants would be using that color, we rested on a rich ochre. I came to appreciate that it guided my plant selection, deep purples will look delicious. And I especially love how the shadows play on this color; it’s Mother Nature painting an ever-changing mural.

And now, twelve different endings (JK, just the one)

After painting, I nearly set sail to the Undying Lands. Instead I chose to stay in the Shire and plant what I hope will be a mini prairie. I tucked in Culver’s Root, Spiderwort, Black-Eyed Susans, Western Indian Physic, Smooth Blue Aster (which the rabbits are determined to eliminate), tall grasses, Verbena Bonariensis (not a true prairie plant, but delightful), Anise Hyssop, and more.

For a project like this, ignorance is a blessing. Had I known how enormous it would be, I might have left the hedge and the peeling paint to torment my eyeballs indefinitely. Once I started, I had no choice but to keep trekking on until the job was done. I was basically Frodo and this task was definitely just as important.

As I type this on the last day of November, the months-old bed is buried under a foot of snow. The anticipation of seeing these plants in their full glory next year is what will keep me sane through winter. So for now, I’ll dote on the shadows and dream up my next big project. Thank you for commiserating with me on this quest. Join us next time for “I can totally paint the house myself.”

Hardscaping for Fantasy Fiction Lovers