You can't go home again: a tale of woe.

I probably have pictures of what it looked like originally: a typical east Denver bungalow with tattered lawn and two upright junipers flanking the house {"Surely you won't remove THOSE?" said our incredulous realtor, Susan. "In a New York minute" replied my Ex). Putting in the "xeriscape" was a big deal: we got to know every neighbor--all of them wits. "Are you burying your mother-in-law?" quipped one. "Putting in a swimming pool?" asked another. The garden was featured in books, magazines, newspaper and toured again and again. It was our little masterpiece.

For a while we had wonderful displays of tulips and other bulbs

But it was the incredible NO WATER mats of groundcovers--some native, some exotic--that blazed throughout the year. I don't recall ever watering this garden.

This picture was taken when the garden was at it's apogee--maybe 20 years ago. It looked pretty much the same up until...we'll get to that...Notice the big red patch just left of center?

Here is a picture of that paintbrush when it was young...

I cannot tell a lie: this is NOT the same paintbrush (this is C. integra) but the C. liniariifolia that I grew there lasted almost twenty years, bloomed for months and was this dazzling. Believe me...

One of the ultimate glories of that garden was (and I use the verb advisedly) the spikethrifts. I grew a half dozen species--A. glumaceum (shown here), A. hohenakeri, A. venustum, and on and on. Theh all just got bigger and better every year. I harvested thousands of seeds off them for exchanges--because it wasn't watered, the seed developed better: I had high viability.

Here two species contrast nicely...

I believe this was the first Salvia pachyphylla planted in the Rocky Mountain region--in the early 1990's. It was never watered and was still there...till recently.

Take well over 30 years ago--that's my daughter Eleni and Zauschneria arizonica (now Epilobium something or other if you want to be correct. I don't). In late summer the garden looked like an abattoir (in a GOOD way)--masses of several species of Zauschneria (Epilobium for you sticklers) that contrasted ever so subtley in shade of red. I have a very funny story to tell about that. It reflects very poorly on an eminent "horticulturist" from Georgia--I may be giving away too much. I have had relatively few unpleasant experiences with my professional colleagues--but the two "giants" of Athens (GA) both made a bad impression on me. Perhaps, if and when they die (assuming they die before me), I'll tell some tales...but I digress. Somehow unpleasant memories keep coming back.

My pride and joy--the San Rafael selection of E. corymbosum that turned deep pink as it aged. It was still there a few months ago, btw. This garden was a showcase of buckwheats (Eriogonum) second to none.

At the time, there were probably not more than a handful of unwatered (but intentional gardens--not abandoned yards) in the Front Range. NONE could compare with this one for beauty and diversity. NONE. If I sound conceited, I'm not. I'm just honest. Conceit was knocked out of me years ago. Besides this garden wasn't all mine: it was really Gwen's brainchild. She's a heck of a gardener. But I did take it over...

Eriogonum niveum persisted for only a few decades...but what a show it put on--for months. It turned a russet fawn as it aged--I never photographed that alas.

Eriogonum ovalifolium has always been a favorite of mine--we grew countless accessions and color forms.

A half dozen species of buckwheats are in this picture taken over 30 years ago...many likely grown in cultivation for the very first time here...and of course many physarias and lesquerellas. I still believe in the latter genus, btw. Such a fuddy duddy!

Eriogonum pauciflorum var. nebraskense bloomed non-stop from June to frost along the driveway.

Let's not even dare look at the back yard. It was our play pen where we grew thousands of treasures. Avert your face, quickly...I just got a pang of regret.

I confess--there were times it was less attractive in certain lights. The "dwarf" blue spruce got out of scale, and what possessed us to plant that pine? I do miss the giant Mahonia fremontii next to it. We moved out in 1993 and rented it out for almost 15 years. Three or four sets of renters moved through including three of the most beautiful women I have ever known. One was a niece by marriage (now a professor and mother and our best renter ever). I take that back, the doctor who moved in afterwards with his gracious wife who'd bake cookies if I was coming over to garden and wanted so to buy the house--there are many stories, All of the renters loved the garden front (and gorgeous back--don't even think of that space, btw.)

 

 

We sold that house in 2006 or so. The first couple kept the front pristine. Let's not discuss what they did with the back. They sold. The second couple did even less damage. The third buyers' father was a landscraper. They scraped the spruce--in fact everything in that bed. Left it blank--except for weeds.

I hadn't driven by Eudora (as I called it) for a few months. Finally did on Tuesday. That's my rear view mirror (sometimes one must peer backwards you know).

Back to ground Zero. I didn't look carefully--perhaps they've planted some small "uprights" in front. Remarkably close to what it was when we bought it for $75,000. I take a bit of gleeful (and guilty) schadenfreude knowing they paid fifteen or twenty times that. I am a philosopher--I know it's a free country (sort of--let's see when the Orange thing finishes how free we are). People can do with their gardens what they wish. I'm sure they don't have to spend a lot of time watering (maybe they have a watering system?). So they mow every week--every few weeks.

I did nothing here but marvel, plant gems, harvest bounties of seed, delight and pull the very occasional weed. No watering. Excuse my language. F%ck "clean and green". 

Tempus fugit. πάντα ῥεῖ. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

P.S. Should the current owners of this house stumble on this post, I want to reassure you (them?) that seeing the garden thus did give me a bit of a jolt--that passed relatively quickly. And of course I have some nostalgic regret--which I hope I've properly distilled in this note. I do not bear any personal animosity to you or even your taste (which I do not share, obviously). Being a perennial optimist, I realize that if all gardens in the Front Range were designed like mine, so much summer irrigation water would be freed up that development on the plains could continue unabated. I know an acute drought now (and it surely will come) will leave this yard and others like it brown and sere all summer. But I also know bluegrass will survive and green up in the fall and work just fine. The fact so many gardens are heavily irrigated helps thwart developers and likely slows down the population boom in Denver. So by all means, plant that bluegrass! Put in those sprinkler systems! You go, Girl! Or Fella as the case may be!