Most true plant enthusiasts, if we are being brutally honest with ourselves, have turned to a life of crime at one time or another. Whether it’s the quick clipping of a plant cutting from a greenhouse stuffed surreptitiously into a pocket, or the midnight cut of a lilac branch from a public park, most people who are passionate about plants and flowers have succumbed to the mostly harmless temptation of taking something that wouldn’t really be missed, or might otherwise shrivel away. I always think of my criminal actions when I see the bright blooms of the evening primrose. 

We had a nasty neighbor – well, she seemed nasty to a sensitive child because she had absolutely no tolerance for the foolishness of wicked boys (I’d probably get on quite well with her today) – who cultivated a couple of refined and simple gardens – all of which were right off the sidewalk in front of her house – no gate, no hedges, no impediment of any kind for an ill-intending garden thief who only wanted a small bit of her evening primrose that needed to be divided and cut back anyway. 

The evening primrose (Oenothera) is a reliable signifier of summer – its blooms appear right around the solstice, opening in the bright light of day and closing at dusk. They appear in great quantity, but they don’t last that long, so it’s a trade-off. They will occasionally throw out some sporadic blooms throughout the summer, but this is their main time to show off. The plant spreads quite quickly in a sunny spot it likes, and so I didn’t think our neighbor would miss them, or even know, if I took a small bit from the back of one of her extensive patches. 

Late at night, I snuck into her garden, quickly dug out the smallest of pieces of primrose, and hurried home, depositing it into our backyard garden (not the front because that would be too telling when it bloomed the following year). I’m not proud of this, and don’t recommend stealing of any kind, even if you think it won’t matter or make a difference. Clearly it still weighs on my heart and conscience all these many years later, and the neighbor had long ago moved so there’s no way to achieve any sort of reparation for what I did. Maybe I’m a better person for operating in a more honorable way since then, who knows. I didn’t tumble into a life of crime, and every time these sunny blooms open up and remind us of summer, I’m reminded to be a little better, a little more aware of my actions, a little less, well, criminal. 

As for these Oenothera blooms, they are descendants of that initial brush with thievery, as these plants took off in our garden and have spread reliably and almost invasively ever since. I don’t think our neighbor even noticed. And that still doesn’t make it right. 

The mock orange, aptly named of its convincing approximation of the sweetness of an orange blossom’s perfume, is one of those unassuming and almost weed-like shrubs that only shines at this time of the year, but it shines so sweetly and so memorably that we will put up with its otherwise drab appearance. There are often such trade-offs in the garden. Some of the most spectacular visions and colors – such as coreopsis or evening primrose – are entirely devoid of any notable fragrance. Meanwhile, such plants as the mock orange and Korean viburnum offer potent perfume without any other visual excitement. 

Being that I have a few fond memories of the mock orange perfume from childhood, it is worth it to have a couple plants on hand, even if this magic is doomed to last but a week at the most. Two of them came with the house, and the other one is a nursery specimen. All could stand to have a little extra care, something I’m guilty of neglecting as they are such stalwart souls. 

Rosa rugosa is the beach rose that so brilliantly survives the harshest of conditions (hello salty sea spray) to reward with these simple but fragrant blooms. They are on the thornier side of the rose family, without a single space on the stem that isn’t populated by prickles, but that kind of toughness is needed when you’re in a daily battle with the harsh elements that their preferred seaside locations demand. 

Happily, this specimen only has to contend with the sun and heat and winds and rains of an upstate New York summer, and the occasional splash of pool water if someone is making extra efforts to cannonball. While a little rough around the edges for a formal garden, I’ve maintained its size and shape with some heavy pruning in the spring, and it’s stayed within its prescribed boundaries rather well for the past five years. It seems to enjoy a heavy pruning, and I love a plant that’s not afraid to lose its limbs in the hopes of growing greater ones. 

I also love its fragrance, which brings me back to Ogunquit and Cape Cod in the best possible ways. 

After decades of trying to bend the will and shade of these hydrangeas I have finally accepted their refusal to be anything other than light pink, and more than that I am embracing such a choice because that’s what they were born to be. Amending the soil with acidifiers and coffee grounds and rusted nails would momentarily yield a more bluish tone, but invariably they returned to purple and then pink, and appreciating a plant for its natural state in its home soil is another valuable lesson that the garden has imparted.

Forcing things, aside from bulbs in the midst of winter, rarely turns out well, and nature will always work around it. A river bends but rarely breaks. These hydrangeas yearn to be pink, and being pink is part of their basic make-up, their interior soul that always finds expression at one point or another. 

It’s so much simpler to enjoy a blooming hydrangea when you embrace whatever shade it deigns to appear as. And who could ever find fault with pink and cream and green? 

Favoring strong and vibrant and super-saturated colors, I’ve always enjoyed the bright and powerful, as found in fuchsia or chartreuse or neon orange, yet as I get older, and seek out calm in atmosphere and all sorts of interiors, I’ve come to appreciate and enjoy a more subdued and monotonous color palette, particularly place and scenes that employ just one or two colors – like ivory and green. 

That combination has been in full effect these past couple of weeks, as the Chinese dogwood and the climbing hydrangea combine to create this magical effect or creams and ivories against bright green – all of it backed by the varying blues of the sky. 

The bouquets I’ve made of late employ similar monochromatic themes, lending an elegance and simplicity that is easy on the eyes, and calm on the soul. 

Nature knows what she is doing. Trust in her. Follow her examples. She will never lead you astray. 

Last year Andy and I returned to the world of summer tomato gardening with a couple of potted plants on the patio. They did not all do well, with the larger varieties teasing but failing to complete their fruiting responsibilities. It was the cherry tomatoes that gave us the most substantial bang for the buck, producing buckets of fruit from just one plant trained on a pretty trellis. This summer I vowed to do mostly cherry tomato pants, as the others did not produce as much. 

This week they began their blooming, so we may be back in the tomato business sooner than expected. There really is nothing quite as delicious as a simple tomato and mayo sandwich on a sunny afternoon, especially when the tomatoes come from your own garden.