England has a simply glorious climate. Herefordshire's growing season lasts 10 months a year. Believe it.
But monsters lurk in this paradise. A laurel hedge lives on my property. "So?" you say. "Sounds innocuous enough." Uh-huh ... so are charming, conscience-less sociopaths, initially. They smile winningly, and are masters of socially correct behavior. They seem eager to please, and are easy on the eye.
English laurel hedges are like that.
But let's start at the beginning.
When mother and David moved from the Isle of Skye to Bryn Garth cottage in 1981, they wanted to muffle the traffic sounds coming from the two-lane highway far below. Laurel introduced itself at a local nursery. It sat in its pot, those fat, perfect leaves thick, shiny and unblemished, ignored by disease or insects. The nursery assistant assured them it would provide rapid coverage. The shrub fluffed its leaves and smiled its best; they were charmed. Ten plump hedge-lings were escorted home and planted at the bottom of the garden, which was drenched in sunshine and the red, iron-rich soil for which Herefordshire is so justly famous.
For a few years all was well. Annual trims kept it tidy.
But this plant had an uncomplicated plan. Simply stated, it aimed for world domination. It went about this stealthily, always careful to stay green and lush: wrist-thick stumps filled out within weeks of being trimmed- the first hint of trouble. But this subtle clue was ignored.
Anchored now on the edge of the steep hillside by huge, thigh-thick roots, it began to move inexorably toward the house. Mother had established a glorious flower garden within its borders, but every year she noticed her beds seemed -- well, smaller than last year ... but that was silly.
The laurel moved closer. One night, while a soft English rain fell, this monster, quietly munching mineral-rich soil, assessed the situation. Established now, it had sun, space, food, and nobody was watching. GO!
Practically overnight, it has overrun everything. It's fallen backward to race 50 feet down the steep hill. It's flopped forward, the bottom branches curving into an "L" to reach for the sky. It's shot straight up, thickly green, rapidly reaching 30 feet high. When howling gale-force winds from the Welsh mountains roar over the landscape the laurel doesn't flinch. It's snacked on the century-old, thick stone wall bordering the cottage, smothered young trees and surrounded giant oaks. And, it's squeezed the long asphalt driveway smaller and smaller ...
Finally, far too late, mother and David grasped the situation. The garden was 10 feet narrower. Desperately they hired a team of men to chainsaw the hedge to 5 feet high; it took three days, cost a fortune, and made no difference. Six months later it had to be done again. The hedge was 50 feet wide now, impenetrable, and relentlessly expanding in every direction.
Somehow it's found a way to enter the forest to one side of the cottage. There, a twiglet has grown into a gigantic, 30-foot high/wide towering menace, overwhelming everything. Laurel is everywhere.
Then mother died. David moved to a residential care home. I was left to gape at the incredible power of this beautiful monster.
I've hired a ruthless team of burly men and their huge digger/ripper machine to extract just the lawn hedge in October. This dangerous, exhausting work will cost thousands of pounds, and take two weeks. As for the forest growth, control is illusionary. But I'm absolutely determined. This hedge has met its match!
English workmen look at me under their helmets, and shake their heads. They know better ...
Dee Blair's Sunnybank Gardens are at 325 Sixth St. in Traverse City. Visit her Web site, www.deeblair.com for more information. Find more of her columns online at record-eagle.com/deeblair.
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