I drove into Summerville in torrential rains, 17 under construction, 26 blocked up to Ashley Phosphate and one huge disappointment. The loss of a generation of gardeners has been on my mind. A group of us youngsters, about 15 years ago, including me and Jennifer Denslow (now Glass) got to look into a world of plant lovers, just as they were turning sort of feeble.

We got to have coffee and trade plants and hear all their little spats. Brawls, grudges, come-uppance and sometimes down-right trashy stories that always revolved around a cutting of this or a stolen bit of that or a piece of iris that was full of Oxalis brazlienis and look at it, now it’s taken over the whole yard.

“I know she sent that on purpose, I just know she did.”

Gardening Feuds

So right now, I’m getting ready to prep a garden in downtown Charleston for a dinner party. I wanted hanging baskets, full and flowing of pass-along house plants. Nothing trendy. So I went miles out the way to find a backyard nursery, a backyard of an old lady I’d known for years. I found a for sale sign and garden gone a bit wild. That’s what put me in mind of Jim Porter and his contemporaries.

For all of the great plants I got from them, those generous, sharing gardeners who collected plants in swamps to build little kingdoms, they were always feuding. Sisters who didn’t talk to each other. Bachelors who constantly made passes at me (but they were not gay.) Friends who’d call to tell on each other. Petty jealousy in these big hearted people. Sometimes, we were pawns in their games.

I hadn’t thought of all of that in years. I remember now a controversy about a spectacular Crinum Ashes of Roses which was selected in Columbia. Though I don’t recall the details, who did what, who said what, who took this or got un due credit. Every time I see the plant, I think fondly of two men who feuded over it for 25 years.

I hope they are resting peacefully and know that now, or soon, their muse has become just another pretty flower.