I love ornamental grasses, and have used them quite a bit in each of my gardens. However, each February, when it comes time to trim all those huge clumps back to the ground, I begin to feel like I'm hacking my way through a dense jungle, armed with nought but a machete. Knowing that I could be attacked by snake or fire ant at any moment usually gets me to wondering, "What was I thinking when I planted all of these?"
Once the task is completed, though, it gradually comes back to me: that this is the only maintenance they require the live long year; that I never feed them and barely water them; that they survived record drought and cold this year; those breathtaking masses of hazy pink clouds when the muhly was in bloom; the rolling waves in my sea of native grasses each fall; that these are one of the few things the deer don't even mess with. Then I remember, "Oh yeah! That's what I was thinking.
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This made me chuckle. We had just clipped back this giant Pampas grass in the back corner when a terrific, gusty wind came with a front and spread the clipped grass ALL over the backyard. That was February. We are STILL picking up grass.
Some years back I worked for a landscaper. Since none our clients never stepped foot in their gardens, and their yard crews didn't have a clue what to do with perennials, it became my job to take care of them. One lady had a huge bunch of pampas in a bed that separated their pool from the lake, so I had to teeter on a narrow ledge when I was trimming them back. One time I startled a momma duck who had built a nest in the clump, and she came flying at me like a mad woman. It's a miracle I didn't end up in the water. The only thing I hated more was when I had to go prune every client's roses, also in February. I hate frickin' roses now.
Oops! That's EVER, not never.
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