One gardener’s ideal plant is another gardener’s nightmare.
More times than I’d like to admit, I’ve planted what I thought would be
a useful groundcover and found it taking over. Two examples are sweet woodruff, Galium
odoratum, and smooth Solomon’s seal, Polygonatum
biflorum. I planted them because my
yard is shady, and they promised to thrive in shade. Thrive they did. Smooth Solomon’s seal is native to the eastern
US. I found it quite pretty, with its
arching stems and modest white flowers hanging below shiny leaves.
Perhaps its description as “rhizomatous”
should have warned me. Actually I didn’t
do any research, just scooped it up from the shade plant section at a local
garden center. At first its spreading
pleased me, and I gave away divisions to neighbors. Pretty soon I realized it was popping up all
over the garden.
Sweet
woodruff, a European import, took longer to start to move. The little plants looked so delicate when I
bought them from a mail order nursery that I wondered if they’d survive. The whorls of little pale green leaves were
adorable, and that May I was delighted with the starry white flowers held above
the foliage.
Sweet woodruff |
Later I found a warning
that sweet woodruff could be aggressive in the right growing environment. For years it spread gradually, until
suddenly I looked up and realized it had taken off in all directions.
That’s the catch. Something about
my yard in particular makes an ideal home for smooth Solomon’s seal and sweet
woodruff, but a few houses down, they might be well-behaved, useful
groundcovers for shade. You can’t always
know from other people’s experience, and it can take years before a seemingly
innocent little thing shows its colors. Conservation biology confirms this phenomenon: a species has to build a colony of
significant size before its population suddenly surges. It’s one reason we get suckered by exciting
new imports.
But let’s face it, the whole groundcover idea involves playing with
fire. We’re looking for a plant that
spreads willingly, but we also think it should stop when we want it to. Vigor is good, until it shades over into
aggression. Invasiveness
is really a spectrum, not a bright line.
If I’m lucky, I’ll end up with
a varied tapestry of groundcovers with different leaf forms, colors and
textures. If I’m unlucky or inattentive,
I’m likely to cover my whole garden with one of the strongest growers, which
will look boring and be very frustrating to try to change. I tend to feel superior when I walk by
neighboring front yards where shrubs are surrounded by oceans of mulch where
nothing grows. What a wasted
opportunity! And to me, it’s a sad
look. But the joke could be on me—in twenty
years, their shrubs may have widened enough to touch shoulders, while I’ll be
trying to dig ever-so-native smooth Solomon’s seal
out of my beds.
"We’re looking for a plant that spreads willingly, but we also think it should stop when we want it to. Vigor is good, until it shades over into aggression. Invasiveness is really a spectrum, not a bright line." This seems like a great metaphor for ... something, maybe enthusiasm for democracy? I don't know, but I like it. Congratulations on starting your blog.
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