Ornamental grasses almost always look magnificent in photos. Ever notice that? Long, sleek sentries lining a walkway or elegant groupings in the landscape. So how come they look so horrible in my garden?
They were beautiful when first planted three summers ago. For the first two, they were an interesting and attractive focal point in the middle of my main perennial area... willowy, breezy, nice to look at even on the hottest of days. All of a sudden, it seems, they took off, headed to the left, to the right, toward the sky. The other day, when it was still balmy and lazy, I looked across the garden and realized, with considerably dismay, that the grasses had gone so gonzo, they'd filled up about one-third of the space they were sharing with my shrubs and flowers.
Not only that, but they were blocking the view of everything behind them. The worst thing was realizing that they'd only get taller and broader and that soon I'd have a garden full of nothing - visible, at least - but grasses, an impenetrable thicket that I had virtually no chance of pruning or controlling.
Imagine ornamental grasses on steroids. Good grief. You can't even get your arms around them. How on earth was I going to divide these guys?
Ornamental grasses once were thought of as exotic, not the kind of thing you'd plant on the East Coast, let alone in a city garden. But that's far from true anymore. Grasses are now a desirable part of almost any landscape. They're considered bold and free-spirited and, with so much variety, extremely versatile. I still believe all that. Just not in my garden.
It's a matter of scale. If I lived in the suburbs or rural corners of Chester County, the grasses now choking my garden would be just the thing. Even better if I lived on a prairie, surrounded by long fields, deep woods and big sky. But zip code 19129?
I do have some regrets. I really loved my "zebra grass," Miscanthus sinesnsis 'Zebrinus.' It was a real conversation-starter, with its chartreuse green foliage with yellow horizontal stripes.
But at this point, I'm determined to figure out a way to get it - and the rest of my grasses - removed. They will return, perhaps, in my next life. When I'm living on the prairie.
