Volunteer beauty

Botanical definition of a volunteer seedling: A plant that grows on its own, rather than being deliberately planted by a gardener. Volunteers often grow from seeds that float in on the wind, are dropped by birds, or are inadvertently mixed into compost.


Flower Spy's definition of a volunteer seedling: A beautiful gift from Mother Nature for lazy gardeners like myself who just can't dedicate the time to prune and maintain a normal garden.


Years ago, I started out like all new excited gardeners--filled with lofty floral ambitions which included a never-ending lush backyard that brimmed with tropicals and perennials alike, and would be in constant bloom for at least two seasons out of the year. Fourteen years later, that exotic garden still alludes me, but not from lack of effort. When I began my gardening career I sent away for as many bulb and seed catalogues as I could get my hands on and ended up ordering some of the most exquisite flowering plants you've ever seen. When they arrived (Buyer beware: some of those companies misrepresent the product and grow zones), a few bulbs took well to my clay-ridden soil, while others seemed to dissolve within a season. As frustrating as it was, I kept at it for several years, buying new plants to replace the old ones or simply adding to the numbers to make them look fluffier. This became my yearly routine. I was slowly getting there, but this gardening stuff isn't for the meek (not me), or the impatient (me).


For about five years, I somehow maintained a nice grouping of blue lupine, purple monkshood, sky-blue delphinium and tangerine poppies and then the following season, POOF!--they were gone, as if by magic. I was so sad. I had hoped my plants would propagate like my grandmother's award-winning garden, in particular her "volkerfreiden" delphiniums, my all-time favorite.


I felt like a gardening failure. What was worse is that I am a floral designer-- people have expectations. When my 5-foot, jewel-toned purple butterfly bush dried up and died before the 4th of July, I knew I was in trouble. I mean, do you know how hard it is to kill those things? Little by little, year after year, I started noticing other areas that were starting to look empty.


Each year it seemed that when I'd step into my garden, depression would set in. I always maintained some serious hanging baskets, but more and more of my perennials were losing the war with my work schedule.


Then all of the sudden, I noticed something different in my empty flower beds. It was like a miracle-- new things were appearing, odd things in places that they shouldn't be. It seems that Mother Nature had some substitutions in mind-- volunteer plants that I didn't plant. As if by magic, I noticed flowering vinca had completely covered the area where the poppies and monkshood used to be. And next to that was a small, but beautiful aquilegea plant.


When I walked on the side of the house, I saw lambs ears all around an old plot of dirt. My favorite was the Johnny jump-ups that were sneaking out of the walkway! And to top it off, some wild grapevine had mixed in with my late blooming wisteria on my arbor, creating an even sultrier entrance.

Yes, my lopsided garden had filled in, not in the way I envisioned, but boy was it lush and pretty. Seems these volunteers did their job well.


This year I got Joe Pie Weed, a favorite! Don't ask me how these volunteers do it, because I have never planted any of these things in my garden in previous years. My guess is the birds Petal cat was chasing were dropping seeds as they flew over the dangerous cat-zone. No matter how the volunteers get here though, I am always surprised each season. And now I don't have to weed as much because things have been filling in so nicely.


So, to the garden volunteers of America, I salute you! Thank you for helping this lazy gardener find new beauty right in her own backyard.


ALL PHOTOS BY C. LANGRALL AND BALANCE PHOTOGRAPHY, EXCEPT FOR ROUSSEAU PAINTING.