Sometimes, 2 eager and 2 ignorant add up to 4-get it. Unfortunately, I'm the poster child for pouncing on potential solutions before thinking carefully. Happily, 2 problems in 2 countries resolved because I didn't mind looking silly in my search for solutions.
Secret gardens are necessarily private. My vision of Sunnybank's fledgling bower included a tall wall, but what could I manage, on my budget? A high brick beauty was unthinkably expensive; just digging the 3-foot deep foundation made me pale. How about a tall wooden fence? Estimates from eager companies were rocket-high. Nope, again.
I settled for 180, 3-foot tall evergreens, closely planted -- and affordable, bought in bulk. But, though initially satisfying, this decision was a poor one in the end because I didn't think it through. I just pounced, planted and preened. Problems popped up almost immediately.
For example, neighboring dogs roared in after rabbits, cats and squirrels. Schoolchildren took shortcuts through them. The evergreens grew fat and lush in the rich soil I'd prepared, providing a living wall that quickly grew 5 feet tall. But -- they produced impenetrably thick mats of pencil-thin, reddish roots that gobbled minerals and water; soil within three feet of their trunks turned dusty gray and iron-hard, rejected even by worms. Flowering plants in front of them gasped, denied food and moisture. Finally, the wretches hosted hungry spider mites, necessitating annual, costly spraying. Arghh!
I grew to hate those evergreens.
Defeated, I relocated 15 of the fattest trees to the front, then sold/gave away the rest. I'd lost money, and three years, but gained experience and confidence. The solution? We built our own high wooden fence, a solid, appealing structure that provides the perfect backdrop for my flowers. The stain I developed, an old-fashioned "antique copper" color, is especially attractive in winter. Plus, I'd reclaimed three feet of space!
Let's move now to England.
I spent the first four months of 2009 there restoring our family cottage after a devastating flood. In April I zeroed in on our 26-year-old two-car garage. Loose boards were replaced/secured; scattered firewood was chopped and tidily restacked inside. The moss-covered sheet metal roof, askew from high winds and time, was repaired/replaced. Finally, I laboriously sanded, then stained, the exterior a rich, dark teak.
Sore, but satisfied, I stood back again, and looked.
Ugh. It was still a graceless sow's ear. Hmmm ... maybe a cheerful new roof-rooster would add some class. (Twenty years of rain and wind had finally finished off our original, tail-spinning cockerel.)
It took Joe, visiting during the Easter holiday, to point out that this unbeautiful building dominated the view for people motoring up the long driveway. Our lovely forest, and the colorful shrubs decorating the steep incline leading to the cottage, were trumped by this frumpy structure.
"Why not eliminate it?" he suggested, quietly.
Horrified, tired and tearful -- then intrigued, I stared, open-mouthed, at him. Hmmm. Would subtraction make a difference?
A week later two huge, muscled guys drove up in two huge rough-and-tumble dump-trucks. After shifting the firewood closer to the cottage we armed ourselves with chainsaws, stout ropes and sledgehammers, and gleefully attacked it. Seven exhausting hours later that garage was gone.
After sweeping away lingering debris I backed down the driveway and stared, thrilled! Two beautiful chestnut trees, massive oaks and our winding forest path, so enticing in dappled sunlight, had taken center stage.
Innovative solutions happen when I subtract ego, borrow fresh eyes, then solve for simplicity.
Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are closed for the season. Visit her Web site, www.deeblair.com for more information. Find more of her columns online at record-eagle.com/deeblair.
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