Hello Reader,

One of the things I resent about gardening influencers is seeing only perfect gardens. Gardens at their peak. Everything blooming. Nothing flopping. Not a weed in sight.

Real gardens all have an ugly phase. Some are less ugly than others, I'll grant you, but still. That's the part we don't see on Instagram. And it's the part we most need to see.

Gertrude Jekyll understood this over a century ago. In the introduction to Colour Schemes for the Flower Garden, Gertrude Jekyll she famously wrote:

The first time I read that, I was certain Miss Jekyll was referring to every garden that I ever made. Every. Single. One.

I'm not suggesting we create separate seasonal gardens. That's not practical.

What I am suggesting, is we need to learn how plants behave through the growing season.

Which plants grow well together? Which plants can cover that empty space left by the daffodils? Which plants need more effort to look good than I'm willing to give? Because that information is important too.

These are the questions I'm trying to answer with the Trial gardens at Rabbit Run and Sugar Hill. And this newsletter is where I'll document what I learn.

The Rabbit Run Troublemakers

The troublemaker plants are the ones that gave me grief this season. Some were irritating enough that I ripped them out mid-season.

But troublemakers aren't necessarily bad plants. They're plants I like and want to grow. I'm just not convinced they're a good match for my Kentucky garden.

1. Hybrid Tea 'Raspberry Cupcake'

I generally find that roses need too much coddling for my taste, but after learning that they grow well in clay, I decided to try growing one.

Against my better judgment, I bought a gorgeous hybrid tea called 'Raspberry Cupcake'. My initial skepticism faded at the end of May when I saw how happy this rose was in my Kentucky clay.

Oh Raspberry Cupcake, I thought. Maybe I was wrong about roses.

And if the blooms weren't enough, this rose smells amazing. According to the plant tag it has "..a strong raspberry and lemon fragrance." I never smelled a raspberry, but I can vouch for this rose's heavenly scent.

Come June 1st, however, little Miss Cupcake was covered in caterpillars. Still not a deal-breaker, but all those holey leaves gave me pause for concern.

The deal-breaker came in July. Japanese beetles. Not just a few of them. I removed 37 of the little beasts one morning!

By the end of August, the beetles had left as quickly as they arrived. Little Miss Cupcake was blooming and that heavenly scent was luring me into submission.

And, like all gardeners, I was certain that the caterpillars weren't that bad. How hard could it be to pick off a few Japanese beetles and drop them into a cup of soapy water?

Note: As I'm writing this, I'm laughing and rolling my eyes.

2. Cosmos

I was never successful growing cosmos in my Michigan garden. The only sunny spot I had was in the front yard and Michigan deer love cosmos.

Cosmos were definitely on the agenda for Rabbit Run. I grew five varieties:

1. Hinomaru
2. Cupcakes Blush
3. Apricotta
4. Psyche White
5. Xanthos

I sowed my seeds on March 14, 2026. The first to bloom was 'Psyche White' on May 31, 2026.

I went back through my notebook and this is what I wrote:

Final verdict on the cosmos:
- Cupcakes Blush was too floppy. Very pretty, but floppy.
- Didn't like 'Apricotta'. Most of my seedlings didn't survive.
- Loved 'Hinomaru', but it looked awful in July and was removed.
- 'Xanthos' was a pretty color; it seemed like they were weaker plants.
- 'Psyche White' was gorgeous, but the stems couldn't hold the large flower and it flopped.

Before I get too critical, I need to come clean.

I suspect that I started my cosmos seeds too early. The seedlings were a bit lanky when they went into the garden, and I'm not exactly disciplined when it comes to deadheading.

So perhaps the cosmos weren't the problem. There is a chance it's me.

They will get another try. I'll stick with the single-blooming varieties, and I swear, I'll cut them back next time.

What I'm Learning

That's really the point of the trial garden.

I'm not looking for plants that look perfect for one glorious week in May. I'm trying to figure out what happens through the whole season and figure out if I still like a plant if it requires some effort.

After all, that's what a real garden is: good days, bad days, disappointments, and the occasional moment when you think you've got it all figured out.

And then the Japanese beetles show up.

I'll be keeping notes.

Sue