PPRP not for wimps

This is the column I wrote for The Leaf Chronicle which originally published on Sep 29, 2013.

I have no idea what came over me, but earlier this week I started cutting, pulling and digging in my front flower beds. I thought I’d take advantage of the rain we had recently had, by pulling weeds. (By the way—how long did it take me to figure out that it is easier to pull weeds after a good rain?) Then, next thing I knew, I had the wheelbarrow out, loading it with transplants, as well as several loads of an unidentified, but very prolific tall, leafy perennial—bound for the dump.

If memory serves, I actually ordered that plant when we first moved to Dog Hill. I love tall plants in my garden and the description for this beast must have fit the bill. Well, about 10 years later, having completely forgotten its name, transplanted it and given it away (sounding familiar), I have decided—it’s got to go. Now is the time of year it produces its tiny white, dandelion puff-like flowers, so I had to act quickly.

before

I grabbed the shovel and started digging down to remove the root and all. Hours later—with a few other plants entered into our PPRP (Paige’s Perennial Relocation Program)—I think I’ve got them down to a few single-stems located throughout our yard, as well as our neighbors.

And now, a word about qualifying for PPRP. This isn’t a program suited for all perennials. No—PRP is for survivors. To be selected for PRP, you must have a growth rate which requires a slide rule for tracking. Other qualifications include: the ability to survive with minimal attention/pruning/grooming; the ability to look fairly decent for at least a few weeks out of the year (thus justifying the effort the caretaker will put into moving you); and finally, you must grab hold of your new soil with very little encouragement from your caretaker.

You see, by the time I’ve decided to relocate or just divide a perennial, my sparkler of enthusiasm for gardening is starting to fizzle. I’m not sure why, but it’s usually the last thing I do before I quit for the day; I’m exhausted, sweaty and itchy. So, the last thing I want to do it dig a hole, loosen the soil and water a plant I am, at this point, wondering why I ever planted. At best, I will remove approximately three inches of the soil (which is usually mostly mulch), drop the plant into the shallow crevice and head for the shower with nary a backwards glance.

after

Believe me when I tell you, however, you would be surprised at the hardiness of those plants which have survived the rigors of the PPRP; many of which have been the subject of previous diatribes—namely, Lamb’s Ear and Asters. Sunday’s victim, however, was relocated to the dump pile. Perhaps it was because we’re not on a first name basis; perhaps it was the audacity it demonstrated by jumping into pots and across the yard into other gardens; perhaps it is the fact that I know—even though I think I pulled it all up—fluffy, little, white seeds are currently waiting for spring to pop-up and declare their survivor status.

Writer’s notes:  Yesterday, a friend at church told me she knew what the plant in question is actually a weed!  She has done battle with it in her own garden and was so frustrated by it, her husband took a sample to our local university for identification.  They told her it is a Mulberry weed.  I googled it today and she is right on the money!  Here’s a blog I found about it.