In between the Hibiscus and the Rose of Sharon stand the offendersThis idjit gardener was starting to get a little cocky about her new found gardening acumen until the recent weed incident. Early in the summer, as I tilled the dirt patch next to the deck, I came across a discarded empty Delphinium seed packet. How lucky, I thought, that my predecessor had made the effort to gift me some delphinium.
Soon afterward, some green sprouts in the area of the found packet began to reveal themselves. They had multi-pronged leaves, which -- to the idjit gardener's untrained and suggestible eye -- looked to be the delphinium I awaited. In no time, there was a booming bounty of them popping up in a haphazard array. So, I subjected them to my innate orderliness, and transplanted them into two neat, tightly-spaced rows. I watched over them carefully for a few days, saw that they were thriving, and went on my merry way.
Next time I took note, they were about 18 inches tall and topped with short spikes of little lightgreen buds. But wait, that's not what Delphinium are supposed to look like, are they? I googled "Delphinium images," and doubt set in. Things got worse when I spotted the same Delphinium impostors among weeds in a town parking lot. Oh no. I dispatched photos of the impostors to friends and family who possess plant identification skills light years beyond the idjit gardener's. In reply, I received diplomatically worded emails about how something is only a weed if you don't want it, and that perhaps my impostors possessed an unsung worthiness. Well, they didn't.
This morning I removed the offenders with somber resolve. In revenge, they set my fall allergies into overdrive. But I would not be deterred. Now they rest curbside in a yard-waste bag. The garden looks a little bare in their absence, and, though I mourn the Delphinium that might have been, I've already transplanted some Hollyhock seedlings into the sunny spot the offenders so enjoyed. Perhaps the idjit gardener will next learn that Hollyhocks do not tolerate being transplanted in early fall. 'Til then, there's always another adventure for the idjit gardener.
by Katie Hutchison for House Enthusiast