A Killer Instinct Matters in Gardening
As a kid learning to garden in northern Indiana, I never met a plant I didn’t like. I propagated random and ubiquitous things (remember Stella D’Oro Daylilies? I had a phase…) for no reason other than to simply have more. I accepted plant donations from friends and family and no matter what they were, I gave them a home because heaven forbid a living plant end up in the compost pile. Then I hit my teens and began to develop opinions.
I still remember a first “deep clean and purge” of my garden. This wasn’t just a little light thinning, this was massive: a total gutting and renovation. After a few short years of growing Gooseneck Loosestrife (Lysimachia clethroides) and an unknown red Monarda, I was suddenly losing other plants to this opportunistic pairing. I had been infatuated with these two plants when I first started growing them. Always blooming together around the 4th of July, they were a welcome spectacle of high summer, not to mention great cut flowers.
I remember the moment when I decided to remove them. They were growing together in a large bed, maybe 12’ long and 4’ deep. For nineteen-year-old me, it was a daunting task, not only for the physical labor that lay ahead but also the emotional tension brewing between that early infatuation and a growing acknowledgement of the threat they wrought.
It turned out the process of removal was cathartic. I began to imagine new possibilities as I saw the soil open up before me. A space I had taken for granted and, quite frankly, kind of ignored, was suddenly full of opportunity. I couldn’t wait to return to the space and begin replanting in earnest. There’s something exhilarating about a rapid transformation.
Fast forward twelve years, and this same growing space has undergone at least two similar near-total renovations. Each time the demolition was easier because it was more pre-meditated, and I grew more confident in my decisions and actions.
I developed a nearly obsessive practice of building my observational skills. One season I kept a written journal and digital photography followed shortly after. My favorite practice was a movable chair I would shift throughout the garden to contemplate different perspectives. I would be fully and totally present and in the moment. In retrospect, it became a meditation. I just didn’t know it.
Today, I lovingly see my horticultural “killer instinct” as the outgrowth of those years of observation, removal, replanting, and repeat. It’s become easier for me to make changes and to acknowledge failure (or at least “does not meet expectations”). Just as important as knowing when to remove something is knowing when to leave “happy accidents” be. The year Geranium phaeum ‘Samobor’ voluntarily seeded itself into a cluster of Bronze Fennel (Foeniculum vulgare ‘Purpureum’) is to this day one of my happiest. (see below)
I find new gardeners more often feel apprehension and anxiety when it comes time to remove something, and with twenty million new gardeners entering their sophomore season this year, I wanted to share my own experience as — hopefully — a source of comfort and perspective. If something you planted last year doesn’t feel right this year, that’s totally fine and absolutely natural. You aren’t a failure as a gardener, you’re simply learning how to garden. This will all become easier in time and I think you’ll find it to be one of the joys of gardening. Things will move, change, and surprise you, and there’s something beautiful about authentic surprises when we live in a world where algorithms know our emotions, triggers, and behaviors better than we do.
In this spirit, if you’re working to hone your own killer instinct, here are seven strategies that might help you along the way.
1. Don’t be timid. As the British say, “let’s get stuck in.” (I love this phrase, by the way) Translated to American English, do something with enthusiasm and determination. Enthusiasm and determination are foundational for gardening.
2. The right tool matters. Do a little research to better understand the task at hand and make sure you have the proper tool for the job. In other words, don’t bring a pruner to a pole saw fight. And always, safety first for you and your plants.
3. Check your emotions and know what you’re growing. I absolutely appreciate the power of sentiment and personal connection. Your grandmother grew Lily of the Valley and you do too because it reminds you of her. That’s beautiful, and it also doesn’t change the fact this plant can cause harm in wild ecosystems if it escapes a garden. Know what you’re growing, understand the risks, and acknowledge when a moral and ecological imperative may need to take priority (see my own experience above with Lysimachia clethroides).
4. Practice Saying “No.” If you live in or grew up in the Midwest this can feel exceptionally difficult for some of us (see “Midwest Nice”), especially gardeners with a desire to grow anything. Just because someone wants to share a plant with you doesn’t mean you can or should accept it. Also think about why someone may be sharing it: maybe it’s overtaking their own garden in a not-good way. This doesn’t mean all plants that spread are terrible because literally all plants spread. It bears repeating: know what you’re growing.
5. Create a collections plan. I wrote about this a few weeks ago in Overcoming Compulsive Plant Acquisition. A collections plan is essentially a tool to help you make decisions. It can act as both filter and counterbalance for those impulsive moments when we feel drawn to grow something that doesn’t meet your gardening goals.
6. You don’t need to do everything at once. Break down big projects into small, easy-to-accomplish parts. A garden is never complete, Frodo Baggins. It grows precisely as it means to. (I hope you read that as Gandalf.)
7. Practice your observation skills. Observation may be one of the most important practices in your mental toolshed. Observe however works best for you: journal, take photos, or get your own moveable chair. As you hone your observation skills you’ll find it easier to make plans and less likely you’ll want to make substantial changes after implementation. Commit yourself to an intentional practice of garden-making and you’ll find yourself with more time to simply enjoy your garden rather than feeling overwhelmed by tasks and to-do lists.
It may feel entirely counterintuitive, but a killer instinct can matter in gardening. It’s a brave, courageous, and vulnerable moment to acknowledge when something isn’t working for us anymore. It’s also important to distinguish between deciding and acting because they aren’t the same thing. Until we act on a decision it will always and forever stay locked in our mind, festering.
Finally, I’d be remiss if I didn’t close with a little wisdom from RuPaul who — believe it or not — has more than one quote which can be related to gardening.
If you insist, Ru. If you insist. (Pardon the terrible photo, this was several years ago before smartphone cameras were what they are today.)
