The Gardener

By Tanya Sousa

When our gardener first did some ruthless pruning of our black-eyed Susan-like flowers (they were still just growing greens at the time), we thought he’d betrayed us. My husband and I looked down on the snipped plants and shook our heads. “He’s gone rogue,” my husband mused with a tinge of grief in his voice. “I can’t believe it,” I agreed.

Charles Durwood and his ancestors had been gardening at Rose Apple Acres Farm for decades. We’d recline on the porch, sipping a cool drink in the shade and watch him nibbling weeds. Oh, did I not mention that our gardener is a woodchuck, AKA groundhog? Oh yes! We tell anyone who will listen that living with woodchucks doesn’t have to be a constant state of war. We tell them that it’s simple enough to plant some things that are woodchuck favorites close to where they den, and they are grateful - and happy to leave our own gardens alone. In fact, we have multiple videos showing evidence of our gardeners standing amongst flower beds consuming only the weeds. It has always paid to work with them and not against them.

It truly appeared that the generations of woodchucks here would raise their litters in a world of complete safety and plenty and teach their little ones what was off limits. Once in a blue moon, a youngster would climb into a raised bed of broccoli starts and take a taste, but it was never long before our own gentle corrections and their mother’s messages had them cooperating.

But then there we stood, looking at what appeared to be carnage of plants that would normally grow to tower along the path to our front door. They’d grow so tall that many would bend over and fall into the path itself!

Summer moved along. We kept wary eyes on the gardeners for the first time, although there was no repeated flower chopping. Late August arrived with it’s cool misty mornings and chilly sweat-pants evenings, and the black-eyed Susan-type-flowers started to bloom on their stunted stalks...but what was this? I called my husband over to see what was happening. We hadn’t noticed before, but the gardener hadn’t snipped all of the plants at the same level. There were slightly taller ones in the back by the house wall, then a layer of lower ones in front of those, then some lower still, and short ones finishing in the front. The starting blooms called attention to the pattern. I could see the result would be a cascade of flowers that would show the best of the yellow and brown heads rather than having the usual very tall green, leggy stems with the same level of flowers on top. As September began, we saw the perfect beauty of it – all without having to fight past draping, top-heavy vegetation in our path.

It goes without saying that we apologized to the gardeners, and felt like the bad guys in the story. Luckily for us, we seem to be forgiven for our doubt, and when the next early summer arrived and we saw the gardener had been pruning, we found him sunning himself on his favorite stump and called out our thanks.