Liriope has its place in the garden. It is an excellent border plant, especially as a place holder in the better-than-nothing school of thought. It has lovely purple flowers in the summer. And if you remember to cut it back in the spring, before the new growth gets going, it looks fresh and green. I usually don't remember.
I am sure when the now multiplied liriope was planted in my yard, those were the reasons. Now, however, the plants are understory to the huge azaleas that separate the yard from the woodland garden I created when I took out the wild rose grown amok, a long-abandoned clothes line, and a variety of other entanglements. In other places, they are crowded between more interesting plants. They formed a semi-circle around the enormous yucca plant I dug out last year, most of the lirope with it, and "planted" three discarded church windows in its place. The liriope came to live a shade existence, and what blooms they had were hidden in an over-powered relationship with the larger plants around and above them.
Yesterday I dug the liriope out from under the azaleas. It was part of my opening-up-hidden-treasure plan. I also pruned the ground-brushing branches of the azaleas. I wanted to be able to see under them to get just a peak at what was beyond: the ferns, coral bell, trillium, and Solomon seal in the woodland garden.
I got the idea to take out the lirope several days before I was able to dig in. I could hardly wait to get at it. This is not new to me; I get exited about a lot of sometimes crazy ideas that I can hardly wait to implement. Ignoring the fact that my back has been hurting for three weeks, I returned from morning coffee, a visit to the Farmers' Market for yet more plants, and Lowe's for six bags of mulch. Oblivious to the rain drizzle, I grabbed my gloves and shovel from the shed. It was not as easy as I had anticipated, the ground was full of roots. I assumed the large ones were attached to the azaleas and leather leaf plant and left them alone. I hoped that the smaller ones were connected to the decades-old lirope, and ripped or cut them out. I guess I'll know eventually if my assumptions were correct.The thing is when you start digging out the parts of your life that aren't working for you anymore, you uncover buried treasure for which you didn't even know to have a map. I don't know why I haven't learned to expect the unexpected; I guess I just love the element of surprise. I have experienced it many times when I have started messing with what isn't giving me life and energy. I have certainly dug up a lot of cool stuff in my yard, including dozens of medium-sized and large rocks that have been very useful, and most of the flagstone that forms paths in my yard. (Also less useful things, like a piece of a glass Dr. Pepper bottle, a large iron wheel rim--which is now on a stump, filled with soil and plants, a stroller wheel, a brush roller pick, and the end piece of a lawn mower starter cord. Bet there was some cussing when that broke.) The thing about archeological digs is you can paint a picture of what life might have looked like years in the past. When I dug up another dozen medium-sized rocks from around the lirope, I imagined those azaleas when they were a foot in diameter––rather than seven feet––bordered by lirope; and the lirope bordered by rocks.
There were just enough rocks to complete the border of the bed I had carved out next to (and on top of) the end of the driveway. Buried treasure. I gave the lirope to my new neighbors for their backyard––something is better than nothing. They are very young people, I had to show them what it would look like when it was planted, rather than piled in the wheelbarrow. Yes, I still have some in my yard; still holding space for something more interesting yet to come. I hope there will always be something new to uncover, both in my garden and in my life.
