Tree regret

I have long regretted planting the crape myrtles. 

When I first moved to North Carolina from the midwest, I was attracted by the trees, their graceful form and their color in bloom, bright white or hot pink or soft purple. They bloomed generously during the hottest and driest weeks of summer and even the neglected trees at shopping centers and in parking lots were covered with colorful clusters of flowers.

As a new gardener, I asked a man named Ross from a local garden shop to come to my home and recommend trees to plant.  He looked around the yard and turned his head to evaluate the oak trees.  Right then, I should have judged that there was not enough sun to grow crape myrtles.  But I was happy to hear Ross recommend the crapes, so I got out the shovel and didn't think anything else about it.

I wish Ross had recommended native trees that would tolerate the shade from the oaks.  Redbuds would be fully mature by now with dark twisted trunks and billows of magenta blooms in April.  Understory natives like Carolina silverbell or fringe tree or serviceberry would feed the birds.

But that's not what was sold in Ross's shop.  It was a maple and dogwood and crape myrtle sort of nursery and I was too inexperienced to know the difference.

In the Southeast, July is hot and humid with no rain for weeks.  The garden is dry and parched.  The crape myrtles stand tall and gangly, their misshapen branches mingling with the oaks overhead.  Yet if you look up, you are surprised by a wave of brave blossoms in spite of the shade and heat and drought.

I put my regrets on hold until the following spring.