Every gardener has them: the plants that never make the cover of a seed catalog but somehow become the backbone of the garden. They aren’t the divas with enormous blooms or exotic colors. Instead, they’re the dependable souls that quietly fill the gaps, soften the edges, and make everything else look better. I’ve come to think of them as the unsung heroes of the garden.

            I was reminded of that the other day while walking to the chicken coop to refill their water. As I passed our old gazebo, I noticed a breathtaking cascade of climbing pink roses tumbling over one side. They were absolutely glorious and impossible to ignore. But as I stood there admiring them, the line from Herrick’s carpe diem rang in my head: “This same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying.”

            It’s true, isn’t it? Those spectacular roses will have their moment and then fade, leaving the vines, foliage, and sturdy framework to carry the garden through the rest of the season.

            Our gazebo has plenty of that quiet support. Grapevines and hops scramble over the structure, while espaliered fruit trees create living walls around it with yarrow, lilies and meadow rue along with lemon verbena filling in the sides. Even on days when hardly anything is blooming, it’s still one of my favorite places in the garden because the greenery alone is enough to make it inviting.

            The gazebo itself has become something of an outdoor family room. My husband built it about 25 years ago, and over the years it has witnessed birthday celebrations, quiet afternoon conversations, and one memorable Fourth of July weekend when it became the perfect place to collapse and recover after a long bicycle ride around Martha’s Vineyard. There’s something about it that instantly makes you exhale. During our son’s wedding, it became the bar for the reception, and our youngest son still enjoys sitting there today, just as he did years ago when it served as his favorite teenage hideaway. Like the plants that surround it, it’s grown richer with time.

            Not far from the front walk is a garden companion that reminds me not to judge a plant by its flowers. New Zealand plume poppy (Macleaya cordata, Papaveracea) certainly isn’t grown for its blooms, which are rather forgettable. In fact, I can’t even remember why I bought it in the first place. But I do know why it’s still here. Its handsome, deeply cut foliage and impressive height give the garden wonderful texture. It faithfully returns every year – perhaps a bit too faithfully, since it has no hesitation about reseeding itself – but I’ve learned to appreciate its enthusiasm.

            This vigorous plant grows 5-to-8 feet tall without staking and has earned a reputation as a bit of a garden thug. Yet its sea-green foliage, silvery on the reverse, and creamy white flowers that mature into rusty plumes are undeniably impressive. It’s probably happiest in a space of its own rather than competing with more delicate neighbors. I’m considering using it as a seasonal hedge to screen the trash bins, where it can spread to its heart’s content and make a bold statement in the landscape.

            Then there’s lady’s mantle (Alchemilla vulgaris Rosaceae), one of those plants that seems content almost anywhere. Sun or shade, it simply gets on with the job. Its frothy chartreuse flowers are charming, but it’s really the leaves – “a tender shade of greyish-green and covered with fine, silky hairs which help their cup-like shape to hold raindrops glittering like drops of quicksilver that steal my heart.” So wrote British plantsman E.A. Bowles who found respite in the plants when forced to stop his horticultural chores during downpours.

            “Long before Mr. Bowles’s time, medieval alchemists noted the silvery water on the leaves of Lady’s Mantle and collected this liquid to add to their gold-making recipes. The Arabic word describing this group of dreamers, Alkemelyeh, was later Latinized to make the generic name, Alchemilla”, notes Katherine Whiteside in her book Antique Flowers. Early in the morning they cradle sparkling droplets of dew like tiny jewels. As an edging plant, it’s hard to beat, asking for very little while giving so much in return.

            And finally, there’s the old-fashioned yellow lysimachia, Lysimachia punctata (Primulaceae), commonly known as Yellow Loosestrife. Typically found along the banks of English rivers, it should not be confused with Purple Loosestrife. Lysimachia has the stronger claim to the common name, as lysis means “dissolving” and mache means “strife.” As Whiteside notes, the plant’s soothing qualities have been celebrated for centuries. One bit of folklore holds that a wreath of Yellow Loosestrife tied to the yoke of a pair of oxen would calm their surliness while plowing. More practical, perhaps, was its reputed ability to drive away flies and gnats.

            Preferring moist soil and sunshine, Lysimachia grows to about three feet, producing whorls of cheerful, cup-shaped yellow flowers that cluster close to the stem. It’s an understated perennial – and a worthwhile choice if you’re looking for a natural insect repellent.

            The Lysimachia gracing the back corner of our beloved gazebo, however, had to be banished from a raised bed where I’d planted it for a cutting garden. The reason is simple: it spreads. Left unchecked, it will happily claim far more territory than intended. Still, every garden has corners where a vigorous, dependable plant is exactly what’s needed. Sometimes enthusiasm is a virtue.

            As gardeners, it’s easy to fall for the showstoppers. We all do. But over the years I’ve found myself becoming more grateful for the plants that quietly hold everything together. They may never stop visitors in their tracks, but without them, the stars of the garden wouldn’t shine nearly as brightly.

            “To me the meanest flower that blows can give

            Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”

            – William Wordsworth, Ode: Intimations of Immortality.

The Seaside Gardener

By Laura McLean

On July 4, the Tri-Town and its many residents celebrated the United States’ 250th birthday. Though we were coming off the back end of an extreme heat advisory, no events had to be canceled, and celebrations were held across the towns; and the nation.

            In Marion, Piney Point Beach had fireworks on July 2 and the town itself the following night off Silvershell Beach. That same day, the town Department of Public Works worked hard to decorate the town, notably by lining the parade route flags: American flags, colonial era flags, and America 250 flags. That brings us to July 4, where Marion held its annual Independence Day Parade.

            In Mattapoisett, the Community Picnic was held at Ned’s Point on July 3 followed by a concert that night. The next morning began with a bang, with over 1300 athletes arriving to compete in the Mattapoisett Road Race. The afternoon saw historic bus tours around town led by the Mattapoisett Historical Museum and line dancing at Town Wharf that night.

            Rochester held their own Town Picnic on the morning of July 4. The Congressional Church rang its historic bell for the area to hear as festivities moved into the afternoon, seeing the Patriotic Children’s Parade beginning at Town Center.

            Across the Tri-Town, many different semiquincentennial events were held. Though Marion was the only town that held its own fireworks display, I did hear fireworks go off from the other towns; surely from residents with permits, right? Happy birthday America! If you’re about 80 years old, you’ve been here for one-third of it!

By Sam Bishop