(TLDR)
I always thought clematis was easy to grow but I managed to kill it last year and I was heartbroken, especially because it was an unexpected gift from someone who cared to remember one of my favorite flowers. “I knew you’d fuck it up,” said the flower giver. To be fair, the clematis was moribund by the time it was brought to me. It perished within a week.
Looking back, something environmentally untoward must have happened in the neighborhood around that time. My backyard was undeniably lethargic. I didn’t see any fireflies last summer. Very few frogs visited and skinks decayed in the fountain. My plum tree died. Even weeds weren’t particularly robust. The blueberry trees yielded a paltry sum of four berries. I don’t eat blueberries but birds like them, so it was a bummer. 2023 was an unfruitful year for me as well, I experienced zero spiritual growth and I was slowly decomposing inside. The garden was probably reflecting my inner world, which I thought was neat, I felt oddly comforted by the synchronicity of it and all.
Some scientists say that plants do respond to human emotions. Not that I need scientific validation, and I certainly do not talk to plants (too cheesy), but it seemed more than a coincidence that the dead clematis decided to re-emerge at the exact moment I was thinking about it. Was it really the clematis from last year though? It was very tiny and I wasn’t certain, so I consulted my new gardener. I hired him for his southern drawl. “Yes ma’am that’s clematis!” said he, “it shur will be the purdiest lil thing you done ever seen.” I told him I was going to relocate it. My voice betrayed self doubt. I was not confident about uprooting the plant that died once. My doubt must have been infectious; the gardener’s optimism vanished. He tried to regroup by suggesting mulch, which is his go-to strategy. “Well, ma’am, just mulch it, a little mulch ain’t never hurt nobody.” My god. A glamorous triple negative! I’m a fan of double negatives, and triples are rare around here thus even more precious. It happens very quickly, it is a considerable feat to savor, similar to watching a triple play in baseball. The expression convinced me firmer than any logic would. I was sold, mulch it is, but wait. First, I had to go to my wormery to collect fresh worm castings.
The soil of the new spot I selected for the clematis needed amendments, and I was going to use the castings my worm army produced. The castings were supercharged by biochar and they are the greatest source of my pride. This past winter I patiently inoculated biochar while watching YouTube videos uploaded by an incredibly attractive homestead maker named Porterhouse. Alas, men like that, are always taken, or, they are a bit too far right for my taste. I crushed biochar nuggets the same way he did, and that was the end of our short dance. If my life sounds pathetic, wait til you hear that I bum yard debris off the neighbors.
I prepared the site with the worm castings and carefully transplanted the clematis, followed by “mulching” with rotten leaves, to honor my gardener. Much to my chagrin, Google indicated that uprooted clematis usually does poorly. That was enough internet for me. I opted not to overthink. My garden was trying to wake up, I felt it in my bones. Bumblebees have returned. They are inquisitive and they respond to everything I do in the garden. They patrol the clematis area and once satisfied, they drink water from the diy frog pond I made. They like to bury their heads in every small hole I create. I didn’t know that about them. Eventually I adopted their behaviors, patrolling the garden, sipping water, and poking my head in the areas that were previously unknown to me. Be inquisitive, was how I spent this spring, it kept me busy, and quite honestly I didn’t think much about the clematis. This morning though, a bee guided me to the area, I thought she was complaining about the cardinal that sat on the trellis, but no, she was showing me that the clematis bloomed. It wasn’t even supposed to bloom until next year according to the know-it-all internet. “Butter my butt,” all sorts of southern exclamations were uttered, I knew there was a bud but it was looking rather pitiful and I did not expect a full bloom. I felt as if my horse won Kentucky Derby, and as cheesy as it may sound, I named the clematis “Triple Negative,” the most race horsy name I could come up with.
