Good gardeners kill plants…and that's OK
My recent post about defeating naysayers seemed to strike a chord with readers who’ve dealt with internal or external critics of gardening efforts. To continue with the theme of encouragement, I am republishing this post from 2007, in which I argue that it’s not whether you kill plants but how you respond to their deaths that makes you a gardener.
Last spring a mourning dove built a nest in the cedar elm, right over the patio. Whenever I was out there, she cocked her gray head at me but sat tight. Her loosely built stick nest looked precarious, unlike the tightly woven sparrow nests I often see. I checked on her daily and always spotted her smooth, gray head and her blue-ringed eye staring back.
One morning I found disaster: her nest hanging in tatters, two eggs smashed below. The dove was gone. I wondered what had happened. Had a cat attacked? Had there been strong winds? Or, as seemed likely, had her nest been so poorly built that it had just given way?
When I’d blogged about the nest earlier, a reader had commented that mourning doves are known to be inept builders. Now I was seeing the proof. And yet—the number of mourning doves in my neighborhood indicates that some are successfully hatching eggs. Obviously, if you keep trying, you’ll get it right some of the time.
Thank goodness that applies to gardeners too. When I recall how many plants I’ve killed over the years, I’m a little appalled, but I just chalk it up to the learning process. My mistakes don’t stop me from trying again with the same plant elsewhere in the garden or with a new plant at the scene of the crime.
But what if I looked at each plant’s death as confirmation of an inability to garden?
I have a friend who enjoys other people’s gardens but talks deprecatingly about her own “gangrene” thumb. “I kill everything,” she laughs. “But with your green thumb, you can grow anything.” Little does she know that my thumb is often more gangrene than green.
Culled from my garden notes, below is a partial list of the plants I’ve murdered. Sadly, many more floral John Does lie in unmarked, forgotten graves.
Ajuga
Gerbera daisy
Dahlberg daisy
Chocolate daisy
Pine muhly
Mexican coral vine
Water hawthorn
Bushy bluestem
Japanese fatsia
Red columbine
Jerusalem sage
Autumn sage
Daylily
Liatris
Hosta
‘Autumn Joy’ sedum
‘Moonshine’ yarrow
Lamb’s ear
‘Early Sunrise’ coreopsis
Southern wax myrtle
Kidneywood
Moss verbena
Flowery senna
Blue-eyed grass
Bee balm
Woolly stemodia
Hyacinth bean vine
Yellow lantana (how do you kill one of these?!)
Hollyhock
What may surprise many non-gardeners is that gardeners who read my list won’t be shocked by its length. (Am I right?) Anyone you’d consider a successful gardener has, I’ll bet, his or her own list of victims: plants that succumbed to too much shade, too much sun, too much water, not enough water, early frost, heat, insects, bad pruning jobs, being mistaken for weeds, lack of protection from dogs, deer, or soccer balls. The list goes on.
The fact is that anyone who loves plants will kill many of them in the process of gardening. It’s part of the learning curve. Whoever said, “You never really know a plant until you’ve killed it three times” was exactly right. I would add, “And that’s OK.”
Yes, it’s OK to kill plants. As a plant fails, you learn something about it: What it doesn’t like. What pests like it. A plant’s death doesn’t, however, tell you anything about yourself as a gardener.
But how you respond to it does. Those who throw up their hands and say they can’t garden are missing out on the joy of success that will surely come if they keep trying. After all, if you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, you surely have to kill a few plants to make a garden.
All material © 2006-2010 by Pam Penick for Digging. Unauthorized reproduction prohibited.
You don’t give up til you’ve killed it three times, they say. Hard with some of the expensive items you can’t start from seed. Like farmers, we do have to accept death as part of the endeavor…
Good point, Cyndy. Part of having a garden is accepting what you can’t control. Kind of like life. —Pam
If this is true, then I am a great gardener. I’ve killed more “easy to grow” plants than I can count. I do take it in stride. It’s all part of learning. I will, some day, have lobelia cardinalis in my garden. Maybe this will be my year.
I’m sure it will, Tom. You sound determined! —Pam
Thanks, because of this post I will consider myself an “Expert” Gardener, lol….I don’t have enough time to list my failures in the garden..This ole girl ain’t about to give up though. For every three I murder there is one that will exceed my expectations making it all worth while!
Isn’t that the greatest reward, Darla? —Pam
Pam, So very true! C&L’s compost pile is the final resting place for many a once beautiful plant! Once the ground thaws and plants break dormancy I am sure the xeric plants will be added to the count. With over 56 inches of rain they hadn’t a chance! What a year for uncertainty. gail
Yes, it’s been a difficult gardening year all over, and not just in Austin. I hope your xeric plants pull through and surprise you, Gail. —Pam
Love this post, Pam. You always tell it like you see it. The only people who have never killed plants in their gardens are the ones who have no gardens. I have a real simple philosophy about plants that die: they provide me with a ready made hole to plant something new in. You’ve got me intrigued now, and I’m going to make a list of things that have shuffled off their mortal coil HERE. I can safely say it will be a longer list, and also that we share some of the same defeats, which is fascinating considering our very different climates.
That ready-made hole left by a dead plant is useful, isn’t it? Believe me, though, when I say that my “dead” list is quite abbreviated, and more have been added since I wrote this post 2 1/2 years ago. —Pam
I too have a long list (am kind of sad when I see all the old plant tags on my garden bench in the garage). My ‘excuse’? Life cycle….nothing lives forever.
Better toss those old plant tags, Janet, if they make you sad for what’s lost. Every day is a new beginning. —Pam
I love your honesty and those emotionally powerful photos!
Thanks, Karen. —Pam
This is one my favorites of all your posts. You’ve hit the nail right square on the head with everything you’ve said. My own list is quite long and when I go through older photos from my gardens of years past, I’m reminded of even ones that I’d forgotten I’d grown.
Killing plants makes room for growing others, too. LOL
Thanks, Kylee. Yes, looking at old garden photos and blog pictures can make you think, “Oh yeah, remember when I had that plant?” Ha! —Pam
Pam, this is a great post. You said it is a reprint, but I sure don’t remember reading it before. Before meeting all of you wonderful bloggers, I was convinced I was the worst gardener in the world. I know now that I belong to a large group of people who love being outdoors, are willing to think outside the box and do things that the books say not to do, and just love the beauty of so many plants that the risk of it not making it in the garden are worth the purchase. And even when we plant appropriately, Mother Nature always has something up her sleeve for us, doesn’t she? I no longer feel guilty, thanks to you and other garden bloggers, and there’s still lots for me to learn!
I first published this post under the title “Broken Eggs” on August 15, 2007. I’m glad you have let the guilt of experimentation fall away, Robin, and are having fun in your garden. Yes, Mother Nature is tricky, and we all are always learning, but experience is the best teacher. —Pam
Some garden blog postings are timeless and this is one of them.
This is the kind of information that will encourage new generations of gardeners never to give up hope.
I sure hope so, Allan. Thanks for your comment! —Pam
Hey Pam – how the heck did you kill your ajuga. It’s totally invasive in my garden – taking resources from others plants . Wish I could get rid of it all. I’ve dug it up – covered it with newspaper – I kill part of it, but there’s always a bit more that comes back. Very frustrating.
ChrisG
I think it burned up one summer, Chris. I planted it at my first house in Austin, when I first started gardening. It was an early failure. Funny that it grows so well (too well?) for you here in Austin. —Pam
You’re right, the length of the list isn’t surprising at all. I don’t want to try counting my list of failures. I appreciate you defending the learning process, there is a certain amount of guilt associated with failed plantings, but it really is something an experimental gardener is going to run into, and I would hate to play it so safe I never tried anything that was iffy. There was a neighborhood newsletter here that circulated shortly after I began gardening, reminding the neighborhood that our traditional plants were azaleas and fruit trees, and we should stick to the standards. The irony is, I can’t keep rhododendrons or azeleas alive in my yard no matter how hard I try.
Good post, thanks.
Oh, those busybody neighborhood associations, trying to tell people what to plant. It leads to a crushing lack of originality. Thanks for sharing your experience, Megan. —Pam
Wonderful post, Pam. We’re humans, they’re plants, it’s all ok. And to be fair, some of those plants probably committed suicide.
Ha! A strangely comforting thought. —Pam
I agree with Liza, some of those plants probably committed suicide and some of them might have been sick before they were planted in your garden. Interesting post!
I love how you and Liza are trying to make me feel better about plants I’ve killed! Don’t worry though. I don’t hold onto that kind of guilt. 😉 —Pam
A wonderful post, Pam! I have killed my share and have learned much from my failures. I firmly believe that any gardener who states that they have never killed a plant is lying ;^)
We’ve all done it. But I’ve never heard anyone say they haven’t, so we seem to be an honest bunch. 🙂 —Pam
Wonderful post Pam. I’ve never really kept a count of the plant that have met their demise in my care, but now I think about it, it’s a pretty long list!
Mine too, Jayne—much longer than the abbreviated list here. —Pam
It was Tony Avent at Plant Delights Nursery who said something like a plant isn’t considered hardy until I’ve killed it at least three times myself.
I’ve killed my share of plants – some losses were even intentional! 🙂
Cameron
True confession time! I’ve committed premeditated plant murder too. —Pam
All good and well tempered words for those of us that garden in our own gardens. That’s what it is all about, experimentation and the joys of learning about horticulture. The professional gardener though has a lot more responsibility , liability and credibility to get it right the first time. Sure there is going to be some failures , it’s inevitable because our medium is dealing with living growing plants and a myriad of impending conditions, but lets face it , the professional horticulturist, landscape designer, contractor or landscape architect is held to a higher standard because we are professing that this ‘planting thing’ is our business. That’s why we are paid the big bucks ( smile)
That is true, Michelle. Well, all except the big bucks part. 😉 But I’m writing here at Digging first and foremost as a gardener, not a designer. In my Disclosure page on my sidebar, I explain: “I operate a landscape design company, with a separate website. I link to that site from Digging and sometimes discuss my design business in my posts. But Digging is not a commercial blog. Its reason for being, and its continued inspiration, is simply to share my personal experiences as a gardener.” That’s what I intended to do with this post especially. I hope it will inspire other would-be gardeners to pick up the shovel.
I have always believed that you don’t have to be or hire a designer to get a lot of enjoyment out of the process of gardening. Of course, having a well-designed garden is also a tremendous source of pleasure, and I encourage people to hire someone to get their garden started if that’s a better approach for them. —Pam
This post really hits home. I was planning to do a somewhat similar post myself, all brought about by so much death in this garden that I am almost starting over. You will see the post sometime over the next few days.
I look forward to reading it, Jenny. And I am sure that your redesign will be stunning. —Pam
Honestly, don’t you think gardening might get boring if nothing ever died? (not to mention over-crowded!) Besides, its part of the challenge; finding the perfect spot for a specific plant… Or suddenly having the perfect place because something else died. Yeah, its all good.
I like the way you look for the bright side, Cheryl. 🙂 —Pam
When I took the master gardener classes, the first thing they told us the first day of class was that you’re not a real master gardener until you’ve killed a hundred plants.
That’s was bound to make everyone laugh, I bet. If you’ve been gardening long enough, you’ve been there. —Pam
Oh boy, I must be a real good gardener then.
Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise, Lola. —Pam
Gosh, everyone before me said it so well.
I usually try three times with a particular plant before I give up. What is equally surprising, however, are the plants that live despite what I do or don’t do.
There were two years when I did not garden.–One year was a drought followed by a year of copious rain. Although I lost some small trees, when I finally dug the garden out from the weeds & grass, I was pleasantly surprised to see the plants that made it without fish emulsion, seaweed, compost, water (in the drought), and mulch.–The “bones” were good, and I replaced those plants that went on to their great reward with something new.
It’s wonderful to realize the garden can get along so well without us. Not all of it can, of course, but it’s good to have some cat-like plants. —Pam
I don’t know how many times I have looked through my plant lists or notebooks, and said, “I don’t remember seeing this lately.” And it is gone and I never know why. I have several different zones in my yard, so I just blame it on the conditions – it was too dry, it was too shady. It is NEVER anything I did:)
Of course not, Melody! There’s always plenty of bad weather to blame, isn’t there? 🙂 —Pam
I am feeling better reading this post Pam. (And I was surprised at how many plants you have lost.) I never know whether to try again..or try another plant. Our heat is so intense here in Texas, I think I buy things in early spring I shouldn’t knowing that cannot tolerate such heat. Then, there is all the water that just sits in back…until summer, then it is bone dry. It’s quite a challenge, and sometimes hard not to feel defeated. Thanks for reminding us it is all part of the “fun” of gardening!
Oh, that was only a partial list of plants I’ve lost, Linda. Many, many more could be added. If ever you feel defeated remember that you can try something different next time—when it’s cooler (fall is a great time to plant in Texas). For most of us plant-a-holics, that’s a happy thought. —Pam
Pam, I fear my kill list would be way longer than yours. There are so many plants that call my name and I answer when I shouldn’t. By the way, I’ve kept Chocolate Daisy going close to a year now. I’d lost it twice but this year I planted in a leaner soil and then mulched it with bull rock. Thus far it’s come through our winter weather without noticeable damage.
Good for you for keeping your chocolate daisy going. It’s such a neat little plant. I should try again now that I’ve moved away from the house with heavy clay soil. —Pam
I’m glad you posted that list, makes me feel better about myself lol.
I can’t keep a gerbera daisy alive to save my own life lol.
Luckily you don’t have to, right? Time to plant something that wants to grow in your garden, Kyna. I love discovering those plants with a natural affinity for my conditions, and then I plant lots more of them. —Pam
Thanks for linking to the original post and comments from 2007 – we haven’t changed much, have we Pam… except our lists are even longer, especially after this winter!
Did you ever figure out whether the doves in your old garden were mourning doves or white-winged doves? All I see in this garden are the white-wings. Would love to see the little native doves ESP has in his garden – Inca doves, maybe?
Annie at the Transplantable Rose
My list is definitely longer after this winter, Annie. Still learning and bowing to Mother Nature, the ultimate master of the garden. No, I never bothered to definitively ID the doves in my old garden. I love the name Inca dove and wish that’s what I had. —Pam
I am thinking of what I’ve killed and there are a number of victims but strangely I haven’t put much thought into it. Maybe because like a pp, I don’t consider it lost until I’ve killed it a number of times. I believe that native ginger and pussytoes are on the list…
It sounds like you have a healthy attitude toward plant victims, Ottawa Gardener. If at first you don’t succeed with a plant, just keep trying, right? —Pam