The Taming of the Lilac

Got my first whiff of Lilac today.  Oh, sweet heavenly sunshine, what a fragrance!  I stood there, smelling and enjoying, wondering if the neighbors might be getting suspicious.  I'm sure they've seen me do stranger things...

When we first bought this house, I knew EXACTLY how I wanted to landscape the front.  And job #1 was to plant a Magnolia out from the corner of the house.  That idea was dismissed by my Love when he pointed out the proximity of the well.  What a kill joy.  So, I snuck a Lilac into the ground and promised myself that I would train it to look like a multi-stemmed tree.  (See the Felco #2 article for my obsession with pruning plants)  Well, in case you were wondering, keeping a Lilac in order is harder than it sounds.  Lilacs, by nature, do not wish to look like multi-stemmed trees.  Their DNA demands a shrubby countenance, and their determination is hard to restrain.  I snip back watersprouts and hack away at suckers all season long.  Someday, when I move from this house, that Lilac will sing Hallelujah and revert to its wild nature.  But today - after 8 years of chopping, trimming and waiting - I feel like I finally  have a multi-stemmed flowering tree on the corner of my house!  So I will stand here, looking silly with my head in this shrub, sniffing and sighing with delight.  I think I've earned the privilege.

My Lost Love: Felco #2

Having a good pruner in the garden 

is akin to having a good knife in the kitchen.  

When I was a young college student, I splurged on a pair of Felco #2 pruners.  Ah, sweet snips!  They sliced through slender branches like butter and made quick work of overwintered grasses.  I loved wielding them on a plant, shaping my own giant bonsai (Think Edward Scissorhands x conservative Midwestern girl).  My only downfall was keeping track of them.  Any one else have this problem?  Maybe we could start a support group or a 10-step program:

"Hello.  My name is Mollie, and I lose my pruners."  

Case in point:  It's a beautiful spring day and I'm playing Mr. Miagi with the boxwoods.  Off in the distance, one of my offspring sounds the alarm.  After patching their boo-boo, it's lunch time and then one distraction after another until the sun has gone down.  


Buried beneath a pile of clippings, the pruners have slipped my mind.  


Any good detective would simply burrow down into the pile and find the missing snips.  But I can save those sleuths some time.  Some people have haunted houses.  I have a haunted landscape.  Long after midnight, the neighborhood garden gnomes move my precious pruners around - switching locations daily - until winter has come and gone.  But rest assured, those rusted blades will pop up with the Tulips.

With each successive loss, I graduated down on pruner quality.  Maybe it was the addition of 3 mouths to feed at the dinner table.  Tightening our belts, you know.  Maybe it was simply to discipline myself for the carelessness.  Most likely, it was to ease my conscience on the anticipated money-down-the-drain when the pruners pulled their next disappearing act.  As irony would have it, this last and consequently WORST pair of pruners hasn't gone AWOL.  The blades stick together, the recoil action is non-existent, and the locking mechanism sticks out and digs into my thumb with each snip.  BUT, there they are, in my drawer, every time I need them.


In spite of my poor pruner track record, I was asked to give a presention on design to the local garden club last fall. As a token of their appreciation, they gave me a gift certificate to the local nursery.  It's been burning a hole in my pocket since then, and I think the time has come to spend it.  Surely, I've learned my lesson by now, and even if I haven't... it's been too long since I last felt the grip of a Felco #2 in my hand.  Mrs. Miagi is back in action.