What would William think?

Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful. 

 ~William Morris (1834-1896), British craftsman, designer, socialist, poet

Who can argue with Mr. Morris about his rules for the contents of one's house?  Of course, one might quibble over the nuances of "useful".  It would be a good rule to apply to the garden as well, and I think we all strive for it.  The difficulty, though, is the degree of control we have over living things as opposed to, say, dishes and carpets and shampoo bottles.



In the space bordered by greenhouse, alley, south neighbour, and the big box of potatoes we have a random assortment of unattractive items.  Garbage bags filled with leaves and grass clippings.  Pails.  The shredder, covered with an old topsoil bag.  Sticks and stalks accumulating until it is worth my time to drag an extension cord out to the shredder.  Paving stones.  A heap of soil, sods, and clay that had now where else to go.  Cinder blocks that used to border two garden beds, packed with clay and grasses.  Gravel.  Weeds.  None of these are beautiful.  Nor are they very useful at any given moment.  Paving stones keep the muck off my shoes when the ground is wet, which hasn't happened lately.  Some of the material is compost of the future.  The shredder is helpful for several hours a year.The cinder blocks have potential use as a wall.  I console myself with such reminders when moving through this area.  I am also mindful that this is what people see when they stroll down the alley and look past the chain link fence.  Not the lush, tall vegetable garden, but this, and the loose tar paper flapping around the windows at the east end of the green house.  I have no need to impress the neighbours with my landscape design; I would just like to make their journey more pleasurable.  It's tempting to post a note on the fence, explaining the need to sacrifice beauty for utility by times, even though I don't quite believe that to be true.

the wasteland

compost bins

The composter is an exception here.  Its continuing role in converting kitchen and yard waste into soil is always useful.  I believe the symmetry and aged wood are beautiful.  I am fortunate to have a talented and hardworking partner; I would never have built this myself.

A nest built by paper wasps is a beautiful thing.  Not breathtaking, maybe not something you would take time to create for yourself, but so interesting in its shape and blend of colours that results from the collective work of a team with no central direction and a different sort of vision from what I can comprehend.  What do they care about the exterior appearance of it, anyway?  Is it useful?  Useful to the wasps that built it, for sure.  Useful to us only if those wasps kill critters that harm our plants.  It also has negative utility, though.  This morning I suddenly decided to cut back some of the cedar boughs that every year shrink the view out our front window.  Then I realized, hey, there is a nest of wasps four feet from my head, and several are milling around the opening.  They did not seem to notice me or care if I was there, but I ceased my pruning anyway.  There is a big weird-looking gouge in one of the trees now.  The nest is also a few feet from the front door, which could be a problem if and when the wasps do become aggressive.  While I prefer not to be visited by those who want to share the Good News with me, I also don't wish those people to be stung.  Nor the mail carrier.  The beauty of the nest does not balance the pain of wasp venom.

snow peas drying up

Peas are wonderful. They start early and can be harvested over a long period of time. They are not at their best in hot weather, but keep watering them and they will stay alive to produce again under more favourable conditions. It's easy to give up on them, though, because they play dead. Right down to the ground they will go brown and crispy and the caregiver might think there is no way that dead dry stalk can deliver water to the little green bit at the tip. But it does. Even though I know it, I still cut down most of my front yard peas yesterday because they looked so bad. (I am not entirely without hope that they will regrow fresh and green from what I left in the ground.) In the private back garden, I endure the frayed and spotty brown parts, in spite of how badly they contrast with the deep greens around them.  They are still useful for conducting water.  They also serve as a reminder that even though the garden just got going (it seems), it's not too soon to think about the clean up phase.

squash ladder

Left to their own devices, the winter squash vines would have by now tunneled through two tomato beds, crossed the lawn, and ascended the neighbours' six foot fence.  With human intervention, they are instead heaped upon a repurposed wooden ladder.  The vines still attempt to wander.  Three are currently trying to reach across a path to the coriander.  Once the vine is long enough, it is easily looped back onto the ladder and finds something to grab onto within the day.  This way, we are not tripping over vines across pathways and we don't have to go hunting for squashes at harvest time.    The whole structure - ladder and squash plants - happens to be beautiful as well.  Furthermore, if we place our happy hour lawn chairs  by the bee balm, the squash highrise blocks our view of deteriorating pea vines.

scarlet runners all grown up

Not long ago I griped about the slowness of the Scarlet Runner pole bean, how blossom after blossom fell off and left nothing behind on the stem.  Last week I looked at the great towers of intertwined bines, deep green leaves and scarlet flowers and realized that this is one of the most beautiful plants growing in our yard.  Bee balm and four o'clock flowers take up space in the garden and aren't expected to provide us with edibles.  Should I really ask more of this species?  There are a few beans now, small with great potential.  They grow so large that three or four must surely constitute an official serving of vegetables.  Given the beauty of the leaves and flowers, the edible pods are a bonus.  Or, given the delicious pods we eventually eat, the visual appeal is a bonus.  I must remember this in October while chopping up a hundred or so meters of bean bines for compost.

rhubarb fixer-upper

Before Costata romanesca, there was another backyard monster known simply as Rhubarb.  It held a choice position in the sunny southeast corner of the big garden and received the overflow from the carport roof when the water tank was full or the torrent was too fast for the intake.  Rhubarb was a vigorous sprawl of shiny deep green leaves on thick stalks.  I tried to give it some distance when planting other things, but it never seemed to be enough.  Whatever I picked of it last year, most went into the freezer and has not been seen since.  Not useful to us.  Hence, Rhubarb was moved to the boulevard where its grand leaves would delight passersby and its tart stalks could be enjoyed by neighbors with alternative taste buds.  Alas, the move was not a good one for Rhubarb.  Losing a good chunk of its root system (if you have ever moved a rhubarb plant, you'll know the choice is between renting an excavator and breaking the roots) could not have been good for it.  The water supply has been far inferior, and it is in a much windier spot now.  Who knows what the previous tenants of that bed, sunchokes, did to the soil.  The leaves are small, dull green, and get rather chewed up in the course of their short lives.  First I determined that Rhubarb was not useful, then I relieved it of its beauty.  It must go.  I hope I can find a good home for it.


What would William Morris think of all this?  One look inside our house and he would know there is little hope for the garden.  But if not for his sage advice, it would be even worse.  I will not give up.