Heart's Desire Won And Lost

All gardeners have suffered the failure of a special, favorite plant.

Why did the cherished ornamental betray its tender loving care? What did the gardener do wrong? The failure is cruel and bewildering each time it happens. But my garden debacle this past year has ended with a surprising twist.

A focal point in my backyard cries out for an eye-catching shrub or small tree of multi-season interest. Every time I sit down at my dining table the spot is in my direct line of sight. It’s just beyond a big apple tree where I hang feeders in winter and enjoy watching the birds at mealtimes. Originally, another smaller apple had been planted out there by the previous homeowner but it failed to thrive.

Beginning in 1985, I introduced a succession of appealing large shrubs. First a Cornelian cherry (

cornus mas

), which flourished for 14 years until a couple of its huge spreading branches cracked apart. Next, a short-lived trio of oakleaf hydrangeas; these suffered from too much wind and direct sun and were relocated. The next incumbents, in spring 2001, were three Linden viburnums (

viburnum dilatatum “Erie”

) for which I had high hopes.

But my hopes were in vain. The lindens’ bloom was late and sparse, their foliage showed no advertised fall color and their lower two-thirds were systematically browsed by the deer who enter and exit my premises next to this spot.

By last September I was fed up enough to chuck the lot and start research for a replacement: something handsome, hardy, deer-resistant ―to launch the 2012 season. One friend, Jean Coakley, suggested

cornus kousa

“Wolf Eyes”—

a smallish Oriental dogwood with narrow, variegated leaves—which had performed beautifully in her own garden.

Jean, a former president of the Horticultural Alliance of the Hamptons and a talented garden designer, is a trustworthy adviser. So after checking photos and details of “Wolf Eyes” on a few websites, I agreed with her recommendation. My heart was now set on this tree as my new showcase ornamental.

But where should I source the tree? An itty-bitty mail-order specimen was not an option. That would look like a forlorn houseplant stranded out there in my yard. Instead, I was prepared to invest in a well-developed young tree that, viewed from the distance of my dining table, could be fully admired from day one. I promptly phoned several local garden centers about placing a special order for spring delivery.

One nursery owner dealt with a couple of out-of-town growers who already listed “Wolf Eyes” in their wholesale catalog, but he couldn’t yet quote me 2012 sizes and prices. I registered my request and called back in February. By then he said he could assure availability, and I confirmed my reservation with a deposit payment.

On St. Patrick’s Day, I went to select one of three newly arrived “Wolf Eyes” dogwoods at his nursery. Six days after that, his crew delivered and planted it.

Usually, I should note here, when a woody plant is too big to bring home in my own car I pay only the nursery’s delivery charge and save labor expense by digging and filling in the planting hole myself. This time, however, I didn’t want to wrestle with a quarter-century’s residual accumulation of old shrub roots. But I emphatically did want to give my prized new adoptee a first-class professional welcome to its new home.

It’s hard to believe what happened next.

The weeks went by and my kousa just sat there. Believe me, it was pampered: regular deep drinks, cedar mulch, a neat circular edging of

nepeta faassenii “Dropmore”

to accessorize the trunk and dissuade exploring deer. But my treasured tree refused to break dormancy. It was unmistakably alive—the wood was green, but no leaves or flowers emerged as spring progressed.

An arborist I consulted on another matter took a look. He speculated that it might have suffered a sudden late frost attack somewhere between its original home (in Tennessee, I think) and its arrival in my garden.

Eventually, as Memorial Day weekend dawned nine full weeks after planting, a few shoots and buds began to show. Slowly, my “Wolf Eyes” produced its cream-edged foliage and dainty white blooms. On June 16 my camera was able to record its brief life for posterity. Then, as the flowers faded, the leaves slowly shriveled. By early August almost no foliage was visible and the wood was progressively turning brown from the top down. Obviously, my young tree was dying.

I contacted the nurseryman, who came over to look. He immediately remarked that the tree had been planted “too deep,” ―by his own crew no less, though not under his personal supervision. But he said he couldn’t be sure this was the only reason it had failed. He offered to replace it at no charge with any other plant I might like from his garden center.

Fair enough. This was the response I had hoped for. But then, to my astonished delight, this gentleman, let’s call him “N” for “Nurseryman,” went the extra mile with a remarkably generous gesture.

I visited his nursery the next week and inspected all the available woody plants in the price category of my kousa. One conical blue holly (

Ilex meserveae “Blue Maid”

) particularly appealed to me. But N warned that it might appeal even more to my deer, based on his recent observation. While deer haven’t bothered my other blue hollies in the past, I wouldn’t argue with a landscape professional about their evolving menu preferences.

As we talked, I admired a nearby group of American hollies: a stately, bushy cultivar named “Dan Fenton,” at least 10 feet tall. But at twice the cost of the kousa, this substitute was far out of my purchase-price range. No, no, insisted N. He said he’d be glad to let me have one. They’d soon be marked down anyway for the end-of-season sale. And, he reminded me,

ilex opaca

has proved reliably resistant to deer.

Naturally, I was thrilled. No American garden is complete without an American holly, right? I’d invested in one many years ago but it was poorly sited and gradually languished.

I entrusted N to tag a tree for me that he’d choose for his own garden. All I had to do now was temporarily dig up my eight edging nepetas, to replant later around the new arrival.

The following week N’s crew, in little over an hour, disinterred the dogwood and inserted its regal replacement. Soon after, I was already enjoying the view from my dining table. Now, instead of variegated foliage, I have a glossy evergreen. Instead of seasonal white flowers, I’ll have crimson berries.

I’ve invited N to come by for a look next spring. The holly will be surrounded by feathery blue catmint (always a great turn-on for Alex, my white feline) and a moat of many-colored daffodils—everything of little or no interest to my neighborhood deer as they amble by on their rounds.

Yes, I lost my heart’s desire for this year’s garden. But I still think I came out a winner.

Susan M. Seidman, who gardens in East Hampton, is a longtime member-volunteer with The Horticultural Alliance of the Hamptons.