I pruned back the hydrangeas a couple of weeks ago. It was a little early, maybe. And I’m no expert gardener. Just a reluctant beginner.
Several how-to articles were read. My husband did it last year and they survived. So how hard could it be?
I was pretty ruthless.
The other two… the two that get too much sun in the heat of summer, struggled to survive last year. One looks promising, but the other…
… it looks sad. It’s misshapen. The branches are gnarled and wrapped around each other. It was hard to prune evenly. It looks dead in the middle.
I didn’t have the heart to cut it any further, so it gets a reprieve for one more growing season. It seems a little mean to whack it down just because it had been ignored for so long. It deserves a shot.
Then I planted a few little color spots… just to brighten up the place until the big plants leaf out and bloom. They give me something pretty to look at while I breathe fresh air… while I gather my courage… while I contemplate the ruthless pruning to my soul.
Because long before I got to this place I did, after all, ask the master gardener to do just that. So I can’t complain.