The Friday Night Wurble

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It’s often difficult to tell, with plants, how obliging or otherwise they’re going to be. Case in point (sob story follows). A few weeks ago I fell into the ‘rogue trader’ trap, even though he seemed quite legit. Advert in Yellow Pages etc. He called himself a landscape gardener. You can see where this is going, can’t you? Anyroadup, I booked him and his ‘team’ of three to clear some thick tangled brambles, do some badly needed pruning, and generally tidy up. They did that all right! Admittedly, they did clear the brambles but, to cut a long and convoluted story very short, the upshot was that the boys in blue became involved.
What’s this got to do with plant behaviour? Patience, dear reader. In the process of their ‘tidying up’, and their limited horticultural knowledge not extending to knowing the difference between dead and dormant, they managed to obliterate a beautiful Hakenocloa macra ‘aurea’ which had flourished for years in the same spot at a front corner of a border. I didn’t notice at first because they had plonked a large potted daylily on top of the spot. When I realised what they’d done, I was heartbroken. (If you’ve never grown this lovely, well-behaved, low-growing clump-forming and colourful grass, give it a go).
Still, it did no good to fret, so I bought another one. good idea I thought, but the first one was having none of it! Like a rudely ousted tenant, it wasted no time in finding new lodgings. It has now re-appeared just outside the border, pushing up through the Cotswold chippings between the edging and the path.
It’s hard to describe the elation I felt when I first saw it; and how daft is this? I even apologised to the new one, still hale and hearty in its little square nursery pot. Just promise me you won’t tell anyone.
For those of you who don’t know me, below is my pet wurble.

• 10 Apr, 2020
• 4 likes

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