Serendipity

Plant a redbud tree, and with a little luck, it will reward you with the beauty of it’s form, foliage and flowers for many years.  You might even find some tiny redbud seedlings sprouting nearby.  Should they be pulled from the ground, mowed down or dosed with herbicide?  That would be the response of some folks, but to my mind, they are a gift from Mother Nature.  

While gardening is sometimes about planting and nurturing, editing is also involved, too.  This is referred to this as weeding, and the joys and challenge of grubbing out the undesirables is a major part of life as a gardener.  But there are good “weeds,” too, in the form of delightful or useful plants which suddenly spring up, unbidden, a form of horticultural treasure.  It just seems to happen a lot less frequently than, say a new stand of poison ivy. 

Twenty or more years ago, I wanted a redbud tree, more formally called Cercis Canadensis.  I acquired seeds from a roadside tree, several of which germinated, and one survived.  This tree has grown into a handsome specimen, producing dark pink pea-like blossoms early each spring, followed by papery seed pods.  Only recently have I noticed baby redbuds appearing, hither and yon, throughout the garden.  Some I might pot up, others I can move to where I want them, while those in a favorable place I will leave, just to see what happens.  It’s fun to play god of the garden when it isn’t just about ripping out thugs like Japanese knotweed and garlic mustard.

Volunteer tree seedlings make great gifts, too.  Many years ago, a wonderful woman named Virginia had an expansive garden, full of interesting trees, in East Greenbush.  Beautiful silverbell trees (Halesia sp.), native to the Appalachians, grew there, and started self-sowing.  Virginia kindly gave me a seedling, which I planted behind my garage.  Thinking it would develop into a smallish example, the silverbell has morphed into a large, multi-trunked pyramid, covered in white bell-shaped flowers in spring.  I’ve been waiting for mini silverbells to appear, but so far none have come forth, despite the tree making seedpods.  Perhaps the seeds are not viable without cross-pollination, or maybe I just don’t have the magic that Virginia did, but I will keep hoping for offspring, nonetheless.  Virginia shared her silverbells with other lucky gardeners, and she left us a wonderful guarantee that her spirit and generosity will be remembered.

In practical terms, there are steps to take if you would like to encourage volunteers.  First, plant the parents.  It won’t do much good to wish for redbud seedlings if you don’t have a mother plant in the garden.  Develop keen eyes, too.  Seedlings are tiny, and easily destroyed.  And be a little messy.  Highly polished gardens, like the sterile yards surrounding some tract houses, are unlikely to yield volunteers, which often pop up amongst last year’s leaves, along the edge of the woods, or under a shrub.  If we desire a little serendipity, we can cultivate it.