The Life Of Joe Pye

Joe Pye's life is fraught with peril. An ideal appearance has been set. Standards must be met.

The recent immigrants from Faire Garden Tennessee are of the desired superior breeding. These fine Eupatorium purpureum 'Gateway' (confirmed by Frances) are settling in for their first full year and are expected to multiply and be shared over time.



Another batch of immigrants from Client # 1's fancy city garden are on their second year on the mountain. The dark red stems are apparent before the deep pink burgundy blooms confirm, yes this is the desired Joe Pye. Welcome to the garden.



The senior Joe Pye that existed here before the new fancy immigrants arrived grew large because it was far from the resident gardeners headquarters and because this one, one of the few, had a deeper pink hue to its late summer display. The queen of weeding and roundup has the final say in most of these matters. She was fond of Joe Pye and the dozens of butterflies and pollinators that swarm to the pink froth in the far reaches of the sunny utility meadow.



Others are not so lucky. The closer to headquarters you go, the paler Joe Pye got. This Joe Pye you see was Eupatorium fistulosum, a different breed. Standards were not being met. The ones down the road in the valley were much darker in bloom, a deep red velvety pink. The pale things up here, many near white, sucked.



Perhaps if an ocean of its near cousin, the pure white Ageratina altissima, formerly known as Eupatorium rugosum didn't lap at Joe Pye's feet, blooming en masse at the same time, the pale Joe Pye might have been spared.



A pink blush in bloom isn't enough. The few I managed to find escaped a spring and summer of ruthless yanking and spraying. Their cheerless pale faces now will give them away and they are bound to loose their heads before there is a chance to set seed.



And create more offspring even paler in appearance and meeker in the size of the bloom. Reverse evolution is a work. Only the invisible will be able to survive.



One can wonder how and why such standards are decided upon when many of the denizens of forest and meadow exhibit qualities of similar and lesser drama of bloom color and size. One can wonder, but why bother. It's personal.

The whitest of Joe Pye is toast. You have failed to meet standards.



Standards and appearances come into play in the realm of cabin construction too. Footings, posts and treads have accumulated on the grand staircase down to the basement patio.



The decking was placed on the lower landing and then we were screwed while trying to add the stringers for the steps between the two platforms. There really is no other way to say this. The 80 year old building contractor is showing signs of his age. He went to the store for screws and came back with the wrong kind and not enough. Again.

This puts me in an awkward emotional position. Anger will not be helpful. I need him and he needs to feel useful. He wants to stay active. It is a delicate, delicate balance with me ever more watchful and cautious.



Joe Pye in the meadow can easily get ensnared by the native and horribly invasive Clematis virginiana. It tries to gain favor by putting on a nice show. I am no longer fooled. Yanking and spraying awaits the clematis wherever it rears its tendrils.



Joe Pye is a tough old weed though and manages to rise high above the meadow. A fat healthy clump adorned with the few butterflies that have shown up this year. In the warm nights of the spare few weeks of true summer, high in the mountains the katydids sing.

Joe Pye says this is summer, real summer and it will be over soon.



What is Joe Pye up to this time of year?

It depends on which Joe you ask.