There was a curious, odd-shaped corner of the yard I studied all winter that begged to be rescued from the banality of growing grass. It longed to be free, the kind of free that produces perennials and flowering shrubs. I had some ideas including the perfect color palette.
Finally, it was spring. The forsythia did its end-zone celebration for being the first in bloom, again. The flower beds yawned and stretched. The shrubs perked up and budded. It was time to bring this new addition into life.
I carefully stepped off the new plot, even marking it with some spray paint I just happen to have from the last time I did this. I stepped back and admired it. I studied it from the deck. I pondered it from the kitchen window. It was starting to go from a winter vision to a spring reality.
But my initial attempt wasn’t quite right. The proportions were wrong. And the border needed to curve to be more pleasing, so the flower bed needed to be just a little longer.
Maybe just a little more emphasis on that curve, making it wider. Then it needed to be just a wee bit longer to look right. Finally, the grass was all dug up and I turned in some amendments and some fresh topsoil. After stepping back to admire it, I realized it wasn’t big enough. Another hour or so of work and it was just right. Time to go shopping for the perfect plants to attract hummingbirds and bees and butterflies.
I loaded up the cart with exactly what I was looking for, a couple of these, a few of those, and plenty of them, and the perfect centerpiece shrub. I was looking for balance, not symmetry, so the shrub would need to be off-center which mean a few more of just the right plant and it would be perfect.
Then it happened. Upon closer examination I saw the words that cause all landscaping dilettantes to shudder in horror.
“Sun or part shade.”
“Full sun to part shade.”
“Partial sun.”
“Full sun to partial shade.”
“Part sun. 3-6 Hours morning sun.”
“1-3 Hours Morning Sun.”
“Will tolerate sunnier aspects if given ample water.”
“Sun or part shade.” Which is it? How is “part shade” different from “partial shade?” Is “full sun to part shade” a range, a suggestion, or mandatory? Does it prefer full sun but will tolerate part shade? Or is part shade a requirement and full sun optional? Does it need both full sun and part shade to be happy?
How exactly is “morning sun” different from afternoon sun? Is the quality of the sunlight that different? Or is it more subtle, like sun is OK if it’s the coolish part of the day but not if it’s too warm? Is a cloudy day part sun, partial sun? Or shade? Do I need to hire a sun sommelier for my garden to sample the nose of my sunlight and to help pin down the nuanced flavors of morning versus afternoon sun?
Furthermore, three to six hours of morning sun is extremely specific. Sounds even “scientific.” Are these plants native to someplace where there is precisely three to six hours of sunlight per day? Does that mean sunrise to noon and then lights out? Zero sunlight past noon? Or maybe the plants are willing to compromise with two hours before noon and one hour after? And if they’ll concede that, how about one hour of morning and two of afternoon sunlight? I’m trying to understand my options here. What if it’s only two and a half hours and not a full three? Could 2 hours of afternoon sun equal 3 hours of morning sun?
Is under a tree with lovely, dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves considered part shade, partial shade, or shade? What if the shade part of part shade is pretty doggone dark, on the north side of the house, for example? Is that shade too shady? Shady shade?
And the whole “if given ample water” thing sounds like there’s a trade-off, like the sun requirements can be fudged. If that’s the case, why not just say “All the sun all the time and drown it?” I’m not sure that a plant would agree that more sun is fine as long as you leave the sprinkler running.
So, I did what I always do, bought all the plants I fancied and put them in the ground where I wanted them. I’ll see what happens. Listen for feedback. Are they droopy and sad? Slow suicide by shedding leaves? Turning a funky color? If they don’t want to grow where I plant them, fine, I’ll show them around the property to assure them there are options. Let them decide the perfect shade of shade. Move them, once, maybe twice. If they can survive the “Goldilocks syndrome,” until we’re in agreement on the right spot. I have some pieris japonica I’ve move twice. The first spot was too sunny. The second too shady. So far this spring, they look happy for the first time. Got to respect a shrub that will survive being planted three times.
Of course, all these plants I move around require better choices for new plants in the old spots. I’m getting to the point where I can say “no plants were harmed in the making of this garden.” Almost.
What Then? 