Read by Matilda Longbottom

Thirty years ago, my husband Kim and I moved into a new home, our blank-slate yard a vast expanse of dirt. Eager to create a lush, colorful garden, I hastily planted a border with two rosebushes, a bougainvillea, and some donated yellow cannas. It was a pretty start, but I wanted more. This is where my story takes a dark, twisty turn.

In my impatience, I skipped the necessary research and planning. Instead of consulting my dusty gardening books or visiting reputable nurseries, I zipped through big-box stores, grabbing plants on a whim. This lack of foresight led me to the deceptively lovely Mexican Evening Primrose. Its lush greenery and delicate shell-pink flowers seemed perfect to fill the gaps in my new border.

Alas, the primroses were not the friends I thought they were. In no time, they began to strangle my carefully chosen plants. The Mr. Lincoln rose was under siege, and Peace was anything but peaceful, buried under a smothering blanket of pink. I yanked out the primroses and tried to disentangle their vigorous vines, but they kept coming back, stronger each time. Their roots were relentless, spreading and sprouting new plants faster than I could remove them.

After a year of fighting this losing battle, I admitted defeat and hired a landscaper to clear the entire border. I started over, this time doing my homework. With advice from experts and thorough research, I planted a more harmonious and manageable selection of plants. Victory, it seemed, was mine.

Or so I thought. The Mexican Evening Primroses continue to rear their pink heads, a constant reminder of my initial haste. But now, older and wiser, I tackle them with patience and persistence. They may pop up, but they won’t take over. My garden and I have reached a truce: they fight, I fight back. Neither of us will ever truly win, but neither will we lose.

Then there’s the Morning Glory saga. Around the same time as my front-yard fiasco, I planted a Morning Glory in the backyard. It quickly became a more formidable foe than the primroses, with thick, fast-spreading vines that wrapped around everything in their path. They invaded my entire yard, crisscrossing the slope, entwining with every plant, and even creeping into the front yard.

On a trip to Belize, I couldn’t escape them—the hotel’s back fence was covered with Morning Glory. Back home, the vines spread to my neighbor’s yard, climbing his 30-foot cypresses. When he suspected they came from his other neighbor’s yard, I quietly agreed, too embarrassed to admit they were my doing.

Despite the constant battle, I’ve found some solace in yanking out those invasive vines, sometimes pulling out what feels like miles of them. My daughter Amie loves their pretty flowers, but she’ll understand my plight when she sees our house overtaken by them, trapping us inside. Beauty, it seems, is in the eye of the beholder.

I’ve learned my lesson: plant at your own risk. Nowadays, I research thoroughly before buying any new plant. A recent trip to the nursery had me checking my smartphone for every prospect. When I found a pretty shrub with purple flowers, I discovered it self-sowed aggressively. I put it back, avoiding another invasion.

This gardener won’t be fooled again. ❖

Author Bio: Susan Barber is a frequent contributor to gardening magazines, known for her humorous and insightful tales from her own garden. She lives in Oceanside, California, with her husband Kim, where they continue to battle—and enjoy—their garden, one plant at a time.