wanton destruction

Out of curiosity, I looked up the word “wanton” in preparation for this post.

Here is the definition that might apply to the garden incident I wish to share:  “without regard for what is right, just, humane, etc.; careless; reckless.”

But one of the archaic meanings of the word might apply even more.  “Sportive or frolicsome, as children or young animals.”  It’s easier for me to view the shattered terra cotta pieces if I picture the cause being a frolicsome young squirrel, just giddy at finding a cache of dropped sunflower seeds beneath the bird feeder, who accidentally knocked my lovely pot off the top step while doing a dance of joy.

Otherwise, the whole thing is just too sad.

In that pot was a single, handsome specimen of ‘Red Giant’ mustard.  It had probably grown a bit past its prime for eating, but I was generally leaving it alone and using it as an ornamental.  Perched on the edge of the porch, its large, textured leaves formed a gorgeous backdrop for the culinary sage which decided to flower this season after all.

The sage blossoms are a delicate, lavender-mauve color and show up just beautifully against the darker purple leaves with bright green accents.  When I looked out the kitchen window one morning last week and saw them combined, I was immediately charmed.

The most lovely things in a garden are sometimes things you didn’t intend.  Accidental pairings of plants you didn’t even realize flowered at the same time, or a volunteer from a seed that fell last season, now blooming with abandon by the brick wall which shows off its colors so well.

This combination was one of those.  And I’d been intending to get out my camera and photograph it for you for several days.

When I came back from an errand a few days ago, you can imagine my chagrin to find the pot shattered, dirt spilling down the steps, and my beautiful plant wilted and near death with its roots exposed to the blazing afternoon sun.  Especially when you consider that I had no way to replace what I had lost, as the rest of the ‘Red Giant’ specimens in the garden look like this now.

For some reason, the bugs have loved them above all other delectable leafy greens in the garden.  Whereas we discovered we were only slightly pleased by the taste, and mostly just loved them for their splash of bright color in a salad.  I realized quite early in the spring that I’d probably planted too much for our meager mustard-consuming needs.

It was so easy to allow the bugs to have at them.  Truthfully, I was thrilled to realize that the insects would destroy one of these plants, munch it right down to the skeleton, before they’d even notice the cabbage plants right next door.  So I let them hang on as a trap crop, looking more and more ragged, and only wishing for the sake of aesthetics that they all looked as magnificent and dramatic as the darkly ruffled, proud specimen in the porch tableau.

Post-destruction, of course, I was disappointed that the bugs hadn’t left me at least one other.  I could have potted it up and plugged it into the visual vignette as a substitute, to at least try and let you all see the fortuitous beauty I’d been enjoying out my back window this past week.

There is only one way to reconstruct it now:  by using your imagination.

See the darkly veined leaf here in the salad spinner?

Good.  That’s a mustard leaf from ‘Red Giant’ about midway through the season.  To picture the entire plant, you have to imagine that the newest leaves, sprouting from the center, are more or less green, gradually developing these dark burgundy veins as they mature.  Slowly, the dark burgundy color spreads and deepens to purple, a rich, royal purple, and eventually all that is left green are the central midribs .  The largest, outermost leaves of the upright plant are almost completely purple, and puckered so they look a bit quilted.

(If you’re having trouble picturing that, you can take a look here, where someone has photographed one that looks more or less like the one that was destroyed.  Bless the internet for providing me a backup.)

Now picture, in front of these large, puckered, tough-looking leaves, the slender grey-green stems of culinary sage, gently waving lovely pale flowers in the breeze.  Each bee-friendly blossom is lilac with just a touch of a rosy pink undertone, shown off in stunning relief against the deep purple backdrop.

All you need now to complete the picture is a woman glancing out the kitchen window as she washes a big yellow bowl in her olive-green, 1970s-vintage sink, smiling to herself over life’s little serendipitous details.

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