Three cheers for volunteers

I have to admire the hardy catalpa sapling growing alongside our driveway, even though I wish it would just give up already. It's in a bad place for a catalpa tree--way too close to the driveway. Who knows how it arrived there? Some bird or woodland creature may have brought the seed, and it keeps leafing out and growing more branches, even though my husband cuts it down every summer.

Catalapa trees are lovely and I wouldn't object to having one somewhere, but just not there. If the branches grow any longer, they'll be scraping against our cars. But how do you get rid of a volunteer that just doesn't want to go away?

From the moment we moved in here 20 years ago, we've had to deal with a host of volunteers, some more welcome than others. In early spring the redbud trees along the edge of the woods provide a burst of color, and even now the heart-shaped leaves look lovely. We've tried in the past to dig up and relocate some saplings, but they do a much better job of spreading themselves. 

The pawpaw trees bring tiny attractive blooms in spring and, if we're lucky, a healthy harvest of fruit in the fall. The fruit gives us seeds that we've planted in hopes of producing new saplings to plant in other parts the property, but only this year have we finally managed to grow pawpaw saplings in pots. 

Other volunteers also benefit by encouragement. Years ago I dug up a clump of daisies and moved them near my driveway, and they've seeded themselves each year until they've formed a swath of cheery blossoms next to where I park. Likewise the wild columbines I dug up from a ditch and transplanted to my front garden: they reseed themselves and invade every available spot, bringing flowers and beautiful foliage and interesting seed pods nodding on their  stems.

Behind the house near the shed we're watching two mullein plants, one much bigger than the other. Mullein blossoms in its second year and only if winter gets sufficiently cold, so this year I'm carefully avoiding mowing them down in hopes that next summer we'll see tall stalks covered in blooms--plus the pollinators they attract.

In the past few years we've had to cut down two massive tulip poplars, but tulip poplar saplings keep popping up to replace their elders. The tiny ones growing amid clumps of volunteer jewelweed close to the driveway won't last, but several others show signs of stepping up to the challenge of survival.

And then there are the hollyhocks. I don't remember how long ago my daughter planted hollyhocks in my front garden, but they eventually died out there--but not before reseeding themselves all over the place. I never know where they're going to pop up, but this year they're blooming beautifully down near the wood pile.

A more diligent gardener would take these wildly unpredictable plants and make them conform to some master plan, but I prefer to stand back and see what they can do on their own or with a little encouragement. And even while that persistent catalpa threatens to invade my space, I have to admire its ability to keep coming back and sprouting leaves despite all our efforts to curtail its growth. Life finds a way! (But we need to prevent it from clawing at our cars.)

 

Brand-new catalpa leaves

Mullein

Stubborn catalpa sapling

Pawpaws growing in pots

Redbud

Tiny tulip poplar sapling

Hollyhock