Front Yard by Norman Draper

break from the soil preparation work. “But this will give you quite a showcase for folks driving by on Sumac or walking along the lake. The backyard was kind of hidden away, you know. A hidden gem. You had to come up into the yard to really see what was going on. Everybody will see this. With hybrid teas, you’ll have to make sure to protect them from the cold. They’re finicky, too. We can talk about that more before I leave, around Labor Day.”
    â€œOh, Shirelle, it’s so hard to think about you leaving. Isn’t it, George?” George nodded a bit too noncommittally for Nan’s taste. “You’ve been so helpful to us, and I almost think of you as one of the family here. You’re almost like a sister to Mary.”
    â€œMom!” cried Mary. Shirelle blushed.
    â€œWell, Miss Mary, you’ve had to grow up with two older boys, which hasn’t always been easy. You would have loved to have had a sister like Shirelle when you were little. Anyway, you must move on in the gardening world, I suppose. Of course, we’ll be very attentive to your instructions. I have always wanted a hybrid tea rose bed. And just the right place for it, isn’t it?”
    â€œIt sure is, Mrs. Fremont,” said Shirelle, poking a work-gloved finger decisively at her plan. “They’ll get nothing but sun here, and the soil is sandy, which means good drainage. I bet you have to water a lot here, though, for the grass and all.”
    George leaned forward toward Shirelle, a disturbing shade of concern painted across his otherwise blank canvas of a face.
    â€œI hate to be the reality-check guy here, but how much do you figure these beautiful roses will cost, Shirelle?”
    Shirelle felt herself draw back involuntarily in shock. The thought of the Fremonts actually being cost-conscious about what they planted had never occurred to her. Since when did garden royalty ever concern itself with such trivialities as pricing? Just as she felt her jaw drop in dismay, Nan came to the rescue.
    â€œOh, George, this is not really the time, is it? We’ve got this beautiful plan here that Shirelle prepared for us, and why spoil its magnificence with our petty little money concerns? You go ahead with the hybrid teas, Shirelle, and we’ll reimburse you for every penny. Now, walk us through the rest of your wonderful schematic here.”
    Covering much of the slope would be beds of Walker’s Low catmint, with stands of Happy Returns and Rosy Returns daylilies anchoring the left and right flanks. Spotted around the yard, often where some vertical edging was called for, were Magic Fountain delphinium of pink, blue, purple, and white. Shirelle was still working on placement of the ornamental grasses—Karl Foerster and prairie dropseed.
    â€œI’m toying with a couple more ground covers and maybe even a tree or two. I love paper birches!”
    â€œI love paper birches, too, Shirelle!” Nan cried. “And I had just been thinking about placing one at the bottom of the slope, where it levels out, next to the intersection. Then, maybe putting a little rock garden around it.”
    â€œThat’s exactly where I was thinking of putting it, Mrs. Fremont! You’ll need to give it plenty of TLC, though. Lots of mulch. A rock garden? Hmmm, I don’t know. You need to concentrate on moisture collection at the base of paper birches. Very nice, design-wise, though. We’ll see. You know, Mrs. Fremont, this would not be a paper birch’s favorite location. But in terms of letting it stick out in all its glory, yes!”
    â€œNow, Shirelle,” said a suddenly stern Nan. “Your plan is wonderful and we’re delighted with it. I couldn’t have asked for anything better. But . . .”
    But? But what? There are reservations? Shirelle felt the color drain out of her florid face.
    â€œWhat I mean to say, Shirelle, is that I have one teensy-weensy