It has come to my attention that my approach to gardening, explained in my July 13, blog hit a nerve with a couple friends with whom I had wine recently. They knew I was moving annuals around, pulling perennials out, and generally telling my gardens to “shape up or ship out.”

Apparently, they don’t subscribe to this approach. I’m not sure why, but they thought my description of a “surgical” garden didn’t go far enough. In fact, they offered adjectives that were associated with various war activities.

Don’t worry. They are still my good friends, although we have a difference of opinion. They seem to think I should have found good homes for the errant plants (which, in some cases, I did) and felt strongly about discarding perfectly good plants that didn’t meet my aesthetic.

It’s a small case of how democracy really works. People disagree but respect each other’s differences and adjust their opinions accordingly. While I don’t agree with the description my friends used to describe my gardening style, I’m willing to change “surgical” to “plant police.” I hope they agree.

I sat on the patio last night and am currently enjoying it this evening. Have watered my plants, since the sprinklers go on only Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. And it’s Saturday, a blistering hot Saturday at that.

I can’t tell you how pleased I am with the new garden “look.”

Which brings me to describing the type of gardener I am. In one word: “Surgical.”

I understand plants are entitled to a certain life span, and I try to take that into consideration when planting them in the first place. BUT if I don’t get the results I’m seeking, then they’re out of here.

There are other gardeners who take a longer view. For instance, recently I chatted with a friend who wanted to remove a couple trees that seemed to be past their prime. She worked with a tree trimmer who agreed to prune the trees in question rather than remove them. He wanted to see if they could be saved.

Perhaps they could have, but that didn’t seem to be what my friend wanted to do. But if the trimmer didn’t want to give up on the trees that she no longer wanted he could have uprooted them and taken them elsewhere for salvation.

In my world the gardens are an ever-evolving terrain. I never plant the same annuals year after year. I move bushes and plants around at will. And I don’t wait for certain seasons to prune. What I do instead is talk to each plant, observe how it’s doing in a certain location, and promise to be there for them during this summer ride.

As long as the plant does it my way.

This summer season I had my flower gardens planted before Memorial Day. And this morning I redid some of them.

Removed the blue and pink wildflowers (which weren’t supposed to be here in the first place) and the jumbo yellowish marigolds (which were supposed to be white). I really didn’t care for either, and they were hogging the space. The errant daisies that tried to hide in the lilies came out as well.

Then I moved various geraniums and petunias to the vacated real estate and took the crimson suns from their pot bound locations to revel in additional space. The dusty miller, which originally had been rooming with the zinnias, was moved too.

I don’t know how the plants felt, but I was happier. My theme for annuals this year was mostly red and white, but it ran astray early on. I tried to live with the idea that each plant had its own beauty and I should just enjoy having the garden bloom so well.

I tried. I couldn’t.

Which meant I was less inclined to spend time weeding, watering, and deadheading. Less inclined to sit on the patio in the evening and enjoy the fruits of my labor because the fruits were the wrong color.

This afternoon I checked on the transplants and they all seemed happier in their new spots. Not one drooped. The pot bound plants seemed especially grateful. I believe they actually smiled at me. And I plan to sit on the patio this evening and commune with them.