GARDENING Growing Pains

IF T. S. ELIOT HAD BEEN A TEXAN, HE would have written, “April and May are the cruelest months…”

Such a poem would have spoken directly to the heart of every would-be gardener in the Metroplex. And it would have served as a warning to newcomers- spring in Texas is a tease, a maddening siren whose song drives memories of last year’s heartbreak right out of gardeners’ heads, causing them to believe once again that they will be able to breed “lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain. “

Surely Eliot wrote that after visiting with a Texas gardener. We all are perpetual optimists, sure that this year, our gardens will look like those photographs in all the seed catalogs we’ve been lusting over. We know exactly what Henry David Thoreau meant when he wrote, “Though I do not believe that a plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have great faith in a seed. Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders. ” We are indeed prepared to expect wonders-and sometimes we get them. Often the wonders come courtesy of our fickle Texas weath-er: Daffodils blooming merrily in January, Carolina jasmine blooming in February, everything zapped by an ice storm in early March. We learn early on to disregard the instructional lines on seed packets that say, “plant after last freeze,” because who has a clue when our last freeze will occur? In some years, our first freeze doesn’t come until March, while in other years, we get caught in late October. That’s why few gardeners are atheists: Nearly everything we do requires a leap of faith.

It also requires lots of digging. Texas may be a great state, but it has a lot of lousy d irt. Now I grew up in West Texas listening to ranchers’ wives tell tales of Texas in the 70s and ’30s when they had to dynamite holes in the hard dry caliche before they could plant a much-longed-for tree. So I don’t want to hear any whining about the often rock-hard packed clay soil of most the Metroplex. But be aware that it can defeat the efforts of young tender roots to take hold unless we help things along by loosening it up. That’s why God invented compost heaps and why local gardeners always are asking friends and neighbors to donate leftover food, grass clippings, leaves, etc. to the ugly, lumpy heaps in which all our hopes of beauty reside, Increasing numbers of cities are getting smart and refusing to fill up scarce landfill space with bags of clipped grass, so there’s lots of raw material available to compost. If you’re already recycling newspapers, cans, and glass, you might as well start recycling organic matter, too, because you’re going to need all you can get.

Like those early West Texas women, before we get to plant anything, we have to prepare the soil. Fortunately, we don’t have to dynamite. We just have to dig lots of that rich composted organic stuff into the first six inches of soil, where gardening experts say 85 percent of roots sit.

The next step is to plant the right plants. If you have a masochistic streak, plant non-native trees, shrubs, and flowers and then spend a lot of time, pesticides, fertilizers, and water nursing them through our Texas summer. Even so, you’ll probably lose a few. The most sensible thing to do-and this is hard to remember while leafing through one of those seductive gardening catalogs from New England or Northern California or if you’ve just moved here from a cooler, wetter state-is to plant native or adapted plants. Not only can such plants tolerate our soil, they also are more disease and insect resistant. This does not mean you have to fill your yard with cacti,

Our state’s native plants come in a rich and beautiful variety, many of which equal our famous Indian paintbrushes and bluebonnets in color and hardiness. One of my personal favorites is the American Beauty Berry, a shrub that produces spectacular purple berries in the fall. It’s a great spot of color in your yard. And the vitex or chaste tree will grow in almost any soil and produces lovely lilac-like flowers in early summer. Cosmos will bloom in the early summer heat, Turk’s cap will bloom from May until frost, and the gayfeather will bloom in the fall. These are a fraction of what’s available. If you plan correctly you can have something blooming nearly every month of the year.

A good source for figuring out what will work in your yard is Plants of the Metroplex by Howard Garrett of Dallas. Garrett not only lives here, he is a landscape architect and this is the important part) “self-taught horticulturist from Pittsburg, Texas.” I’ve never met him, but I like the way his mind works. For instance, his advice on planting trees begins, “Dig an ugly hole.” And he’s not just being cute. He points out that pretty, neat holes with slick sides (like those caused by a tree spade or auger) make it hard for a tree’s roots to penetrate into the surrounding dirt, while ugly holes have lots of loosened soil surrounding the newly transplanted roots.

This book is full of down-to-earth tips about all manner of things that will speak directly to the experiences of gardeners in the Metroplex. Garrett also is big on organ-ic gardening, which is healthy not only for the environment, but also for us gardeners, since it means we don’t have mess around with a lot of powerful pesticides and other chemicals.

Many gardeners swear by Neil Sperry’s Complete Guide to Texas Gardening, and there are increasing numbers of books on native Texas plants, so browse around. Free advice abounds, Check with your city water department, with county extension services, with botanical societies, with local gardening clubs and societies (nearly every flowering plant seems to have its own society, including The African Violet Society of America, The Greater North Texas Orchid Society, and the Azalea Society). Visit the Dallas Arboretum and the Fort Worth Botanical Gardens. You can find seminars on everything from azaleas to xeriscaping. Check your local newspapers-gardening has become big news lately, and most papers now have columns of advice for local gardeners. For example, the aforementioned Howard Garrett writes a column, for The Dallas Morning News’ garden section.

But remember-this is Texas. So be bold. Experiment. Have the courage to risk new things. Contrary to the way it seems in some neighborhoods, no state law requires you to plant Yaupon holly trees, crepe myrtles, and begonias in your front yard. Look for nurseries that stock native and adapted Texas plants. The Texas Department of Agriculture has a directory of such nurseries. Weston Gardens in Fort Worth is excellent. District offices of the U.S. Department of Agriculture Soil Conservation Service have information about native plants. The Native Plant Society of Texas (P.O. Box 891, Georgetown, TX 78627; 512-863-9685) has 2,000 members in 27 chapters, including Dallas, Fort Worth, Collin County, and Glen Rose. They also have lists of local nurseries that sell native plants. Visit the National Wildflower Research Center (founded by Lady Bird Johnson in 1982), which opens a brand-new facility on 42 acres in southwest Austin in early April. It has a visitors’ gallery, a gift store, and 2 acres of formally landscaped native gardens and courtyards, as well as walking trails through wildflowers and prairie grasses. Closer to home, check out the Dallas and Fort Worth nature centers. Do not dig up plants by the highway-they are there for all of us to enjoy. Besides, it’s always better to gather seed than dig up whole plants. Most gardeners are pleased to share seeds and cuttings of hardy specimens. Good places to find seeds of native plants arc in cemeteries, near railroad tracks, and in empty lots and fields (get permission before you do this on private land, of course. ) And remember, even native plants need to be watered in a drought.

Learn the beauties of mulch. One summer’s water bill will be enough to convince you of the value of conserving every possible drop of moisture. Seek wisdom. Find your neighborhood’s veteran gardener and ask lots of questions. But know that every garden, every yard, even every part of every yard, is different. What works in your neighbor’s yard won’t necessarily work in yours. What’s more, what worked in your yard when your trees were young won’t work once they get big and begin to shade everything. That’s the joy and the heartbreak of Texas gardening-it’s never all done. It’s a constant work in progress, a constant challenge, and a constant source of heartbreak and joy.

Come to think of it, that’s also a great description of Texas, and the people who live, work, and yes, try to garden here.