Thursday, March 29, 2012

Cussedness: The Sequel

or Off-Script

Cast of Characters (all Prunus besseyi):
The Sad Sand Cherry 
Still haunted by its violent encounter with a workman's boots.  Brooding but brave.
The Slow Sand Cherry
Cautious and uncertain, despite the advantages of its upbringing.  Always comes through for you in the end, or maybe a little later.
The Teacher's Pet Sand Cherry 
Reads horticultural books on sand cherry behavior and obeys them.  Never a leaf out of place.  Pleasant, yes; quirky and interesting, not so much.
The Big Hairy Monster Sand Cherry 
Has the bad habit of looming, but can't really help itself.  It means well and means it enthusiastically.

Unfortunately, the cast list is as far as we can get with this particular comedy, because none of the characters is willing to act in the same play.  (The Teacher's Pet did try.)  I'm not really surprised.  In Cussedness (The Original) the four sand cherries went completely off-script when they welcomed autumn, each one ad-libbing the scene as if the others weren't even there.  What chaos!  Four little solo numbers, each delightful in its own way, but all running simultaneously.  My, my.

For four months now the cherries have had nothing to do but hang out together and rehearse their lines for Welcome, Spring!  You'd think they would have had time to hone their ensemble work, but no.  Now that the play has opened, each cherry is once more enacting its own separate scene, playing to the crowd in its own corner of the garden.

The Sad Sand Cherry, except for six blossoms at the tip of one stem, has chosen to forgo flowering altogether and focus its attention on leaves.  A wise choice, one feels, and suited to its serious character.  The healthy glow of the foliage is eloquent on its own—minimalist, yet luxuriant; understated, yet hopeful.  By focusing on technique this year, this cherry may really get its feet under it and grow.  Next spring perhaps it won't be typecast in such sad roles any more.  If it ever gets to be more than two feet tall, I envision it in something quite heroic.

Sad, but not as Sad as it was.

The Slow Sand Cherry has a few blossoms and leaves dotting its many stems and branches, with more appearing every day.  Very lovely they are, too, now that they're no longer quite towered over by the salad burnet.  Some of the flowers are opening; some are still back in the dressing room.  If Hamlet were to welcome spring, this is how he would go about it, and spring would be a five-act play that lasted a good, long while.

Slo-o-o-o-w.

The Teacher's Pet is absolutely loaded with buds.  With the Pet's usual exquisite timing, the flowers ought to open just as the tulips and ipheion at their feet are showing their best.  T. Pet's tallest branches are the perfect height for the sun to strike them, ting! as it tops the wall in the morning, giving each of the high, snow-white buds its own little halo.  Ingenue or diva?  A flawless performance, either way.

Oh-So Perfect.

The Big Hairy Monster, despite its recent, accidental pruning, is putting on a glorious Ziegfeld Follies number, playing chorus, dancers, and orchestra all by itself.  Looking up through its branches at the sky, I find myself quoting, "Even Solomon in all his glory wasn't arrayed like these." The fragrance of all the flowers fills the walled garden with a wild sweetness that makes me want to break into song and dance, too.  What a fabulous grand finale.

The sweetest, most attractive monster you ever will see.
Except that it isn't the finale.  It's the opener, the first of the cherries to bloom, and a hard act for the others to follow.  There goes B. H. Monster, looming again.  Enthusiastically.

Once more may I point out that the whole idea of planting four identical (ahaha) shrubs in the four quadrants of the garden was to create a single, overall effect?  To have the garden be a white froth of blossom in springtime?  In this case the goal isn't only aesthetic:  the cherries are not self-fruitful.  For fruit to set on, multiple cherry bushes have to be in bloom.  At once.  That is to say, all at the same time.  Otherwise, the bees' pollinating work goes for naught.  (The Teacher's Pet, of course, always manages to fruit well.)

So much for directing—really, I'm just here to applaud.

18 comments:

  1. Goodness. I'm really quite breathless just hearing about this performance - let alone seeing it live. Beautifully written Stacy and brilliantly directed. It's hardly your fault that the cast is so willful. And, incidentally I'm all for spring being a five act play that goes on for a good, long while. Maybe even a six act play. Dave

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Spring does put on a breathtaking show one way or another, Dave, and I'm with you--the longer the better. As for the cast...I suppose the Talent always does have to get its way, bless those little hearts.

      Delete
  2. I know exactly how you feel. I planted three crabapples to bloom at the same time. But did they? No, not for a long time. But I think they're finally getting the hang of it. This year their performance was almost exquisite (except for the tent caterpillars). Ah, well, we gardeners are used to imperfection. But we find it beautiful anyway.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Holley, imperfection really does have its appeal--my least favorite of the sand cherries is the one with the most ideal size and shape, because it has no character. I'm not sure that tent caterpillars add character so much, though! Glad your crabapples seem to be catching on to the whole teamwork idea.

      Delete
  3. I'm pretty sure that teachers really like the mischevious ones - the third one looks like goody two shoes to me. I look forward to Act 3, when you introduce a stud sand cherry to get the job done.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. This is a family blog, you know, b-a-g! Act 3 would have to happen discreetly off-stage.

      Delete
  4. I was smiling how you named them and agree with b_a_g, the third one looks a lot like a goodie two shoes.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It really is, Donna--a little too perfect and pleased with itself.

      Delete
  5. One word. Micro-climate. I am never again going to try and plant a pair or a row of ... There will be lots of spekboom cuttings in the massed choir of my next attempt.
    (Does your writing ever appear in print? A newspaper column or magazine article?)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Diana, the micro-climates are really the culprits. Not one of the sand cherries has the same growing conditions, eight feet apart. Garden books are so unkind, seducing us with visions of pairs and rows of... all perfectly symmetrical, of course. Spekboom is beginning to sound like the cure for all SA gardening ills!
      (Thank you so much! But no, it doesn't.)

      Delete
  6. Occasionally, the plants let us think we're directing the performance; but then, as we're preening in admiration of our own achievement, they remind us who is really in charge! I really enjoyed this. -Jean

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I wonder what really goes on in the minds of professional gardeners at highly formal gardens like Versailles when the pyramids and cones and parterres don't behave? I'm sure even those gardeners don't get the last word all the time!

      Delete
  7. How fun. It's always fun to watch "identical" plants grow. I can't imagine trying to make "lots of them be the same".... I grew up on a farm. Noting is ever the same:)

    Blessings,
    Elaine

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Elaine, I don't know how I missed this comment before and apologize! If nothing's ever the same on a farm, then I guess I just won't worry about it in my little garden! A farm must teach you a lot about what's worth worrying about and what just isn't...

      Delete
  8. I enjoyed the no play Stacy. You write a great script about why a play cannot open as well . . . quite the wit and brilliance with words. Love the buds still in the dressing room. Applause while standing is in order. ;>) Beautiful light in your stunning photographs.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Carol--I'm so glad you enjoyed this one! You might be entertained to know that all the cherries have been done blooming for days except for one branch on the Slow one, which just opened some new flowers this weekend.

      Delete
  9. All these divas in one garden all doing their own thing. You just go with the flow, Stacy. I tell myself that looking at a pot of tulips that are in full bloom except for one that is late or stunted. And I can't put that down to microclimates...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Janet, it does sound like the tulips' behavior can only be blamed on willfulness. Tsk. After all you've done for them, too! Going with the flow seems to be the only sensible option--or at least, the only option left!

      Delete