My rose prunes gardeners

We have a sporadic trail of them arriving at the front door. If we are out, they put their card through. If we are in, they have their spiel ready. Either way, the message is much the same, and somewhat pointed. If spoken, it is often prefaced by an overdramatic ocular survey of our front garden. This is followed by a noticeable intake of breath. Then the speech begins.

Basically, they have designs on our peduncles.

Not that they use this botanical word. It may, in fact, not be a prominent part of their vocabulary. Their vocabulary consists of words like cut, lop, tidy, mow, prune, tree surgeon, garden designer, shears, clippers, chain saw, ax, machete, and such longer phrases as "could bring your wilderness under control" and "not too late yet."

If they feel that stronger persuasion is called for (i.e. when we don't immediately fall on our knees, begging for help and writing out a check), they can become quite epithetical and indulge in words like wild, needed, overdue, desperate, and unbelievable. They can even, in extremes, resort to exclamations like "Wooo!" or "Phew!"

I let them finish, mostly. Then I politely tell them I am happy with the garden the way it is. And anyway, with the occasional exception of our two multistory hedges and the ivy when it begins to invade the highest gutters, I do all the gardening around here myself, thanks all the same. (Set them loose in my garden, and where would the peduncles be?)

The majority then depart gracefully, leaving their card "just in case you do need our help sometime." The most recent young man, however, wasn't so easily deterred. He was evidently unconvinced. "Is that your hedge?" (incredulity in his voice). "I could trim that hedge for £45." Then he spied a conifer. "That conifer is far too tall. Needs its top off."

That decided me. I could see my natural style of gardening had fooled him. He thought it was chaos. To him that spelled opportunity. It was a difference of philosophy, perhaps. I like a garden in which most things fulfill their potential. Where things are allowed to grow the way they choose. Where they attain their own shape, come into flower, and seed.

In my book, if that particular conifer were "topped," its natural shape would be permanently ruined. It would never grow back. It would just look like a beheaded conifer. Besides, I think this particular evergreen tree is an avian haven. Heaven knows how many pigeons, sparrows, blackbirds, and others clandestinely hatch their clutches in its dense inner reaches, or roost in it at night, safe from all predators. On behalf of birds, general and particular, I declined his offer.

And he, in turn, at last decided I was a lost cause.

But these hopeful entrepreneurs always overlook the one plant (though "plant" is not quite an adequate word) on which, at the right time each year (after flowering), I probably would happily let them practice their chopping technique.

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