FELDER'S GARDEN WHIMSY

Maybe it's the weather finally wearing me down, but sometimes I wonder if the rewards of gardening are what they are cracked up to be.

In spite of being advised to always be positive, I gotta be honest, whether done outdoors in Mississippi soils and weather, or indoors with low light and no humidity, gardening isn't always rosy.

In an attempt at keeping things real, to retain my reputation as a straight-shooting kinda garden observer, maybe I ought to occasionally share some of the darker sides, if for nothing else than to commiserate with readers and listeners who also grapple with hard realities.

Truth is, our plants are living creatures with real needs and struggles, and too often they are hapless victims of being forced to grow in climates and conditions for which they are poorly adapted, not to mention the onslaught of pesky weeds, plant-wilting blights, voracious bugs the size of my thumb, and weather-related challenges.

Buckle up, here is reality, in my own garden. Bet I'm not the only one.

To start with, my garden is mostly clay except where I have toiled endlessly, digging in compost and bark and covering with mulch. It stays wet, then dries hard, both daunting to even the most stalwart roots. The task of keeping plants watered is mentally and physically similar to that of folks with mostly sandy soil; getting it just right for very long is never-ending.

But even with ideal soil and careful attention to planting, watering and fertilizing as needed, I lose plants. Mostly the exotic ones that catch my fancy even though I know they are other-worldly and would rather be in Florida, Vermont, or England. The ones that can't take either deep freezes or weeks of all-night heat.

For most Mississippi gardeners, no amount of coddling, covering in winter or shading in summer will help lavender; fuchsias, astilbes, hollyhocks, real snowdrops, and ground-hugging thyme thrive here. Ditto for overgrown Norfolk pines and humidity-craving ferns stuck inside the low-humidity spaceship climate we prefer indoors. Just keeping popular but poorly adapted plants alive awhile is considered a success.

This seasoned horticulturist has lost cherished trees and well-planted shrubs to root damage from heavy rains followed by prolonged deep droughts, split bark during sudden winter freezes, blossom end rot from irregular rain, crabgrass and mimosa weed taking over the lawn, sunburnt foliage, leaf-spot fungi, and tomato blights splashed around by occasional rains.

And who needs deer, when I have battled three-inch slugs, foot-high mounds of fire ants, vegetable-piercing stink bugs, beetles chewing holes in leaves, finger-sized grasshoppers and tomato hornworms eating entire plants, squash vine borers, root-eating grubs. Fledgling bird nests emptied by shrub-climbing snakes, compost scattered by possums and raccoons, feral cats soiling my lettuce patch, wasps crowding the hummingbird feeder. And squirrels. Sheesh!

No amount of fencing, insect netting, hand-picking, motion-detecting sprinklers, and occasional doses of pesticides quite seems to do the trick. Getting rid of mosquitoes and roaches on the deck works for what, a couple of days?

Okay. I'm not done, but you get the downbeat point: Gardening in Mississippi is the acid test of our mettle.

But still I dig, plant seeds, divide perennials, try new plants, prune the roses, and all the other hopeful things that keep us moving forward. It's different from betting on football games or eating wild mushrooms, both of which either win or lose gambles.

Challenges and setbacks aside, gardening on any scale keeps us involved, provides a little exercise and lots of hope, making rewards all the sweeter. Time to stop moaning, get out and replant for fall.