Front yard smackdown.
When Dave and I first moved into this house, it was surrounded by a forest of trees. Neighborhood rumors indicated that the guy who lived here wanted to have a cabin in the woods, so he made an effort to achieve that goal by planting lots of pine trees, birch trees, hollys, rhododendrons, spireas, various maples, and boxwoods. Imagine all of that on 1/4 of an acre.
We didn't realize the full extent of how planted up the house was because we first saw it in early April before the non-pine trees had leafed out. We stood on the sidewalk across the street and admired the stone facade, the winding brick path, the lampost. After the closing in mid-July, we stood on the same sidewalk and wondered where the house had gone. You couldn't see it unless you stood directly in front of the path leading up to the front door, and even then, all you could see was the front door. It was completely enclosed by trees. In central Pennsylvania, that also meant the air was stagnant, and there's nothing worse than hot, humid, stagnant central PA air in the middle of the summer. Oh wait, yes there is; I forgot to mention the huge clouds of gnats that would get stuck in our yard with no way to get out.
The first order of business was to get rid of a lot of the trees. We got rid of all of the pines (there were seven, maybe eight of them), a few yews, probably a couple more trees we couldn't identify, five or six hollys, and four or five rhododendrons. It was a huge improvement, not just because it completely opened up our yard, but because we became part of the neighborhood.
The empty spaces created by taking down the trees that were in the front yard had a meandering flow to it, perfect for the amazing country garden I envisioned, replete with bee balm, lavender, black-eyed susans, plus a bunch of other plants that I have flagged in the five bazillion "How to Create an English-Style Garden" books I've got. After three years of trying to create the perennial flower garden of my dreams, I have to concede complete and utter defeat. Things either randomly die off over the winter (even the plants that have done really well for a few years) which means I have to start almost from scratch every spring which is expensive, or they develop powedery mildew and just look sad and pathetic. My favorite plant in the whole world is bee balm. In Salem it would grow up to my waist, a huge billowy mass with tons of flowers. Here it gets a good start, then gets more and more sickly looking until all that's left are a few blooms hanging on for dear life atop sad, almost leafless stalks. By the end of July, all of the plants at the local garden centers look exactly the same. It's got to be something to do with the humid climate. I just haven't figured it out.
Today I spent some time outdoors moving around the shasta daisy that grows like a weed and trying to figure out what my game plan is for this year. So far here's what I've come up with: nothing. I should get Mr. L, one-time sower of the worlds most amazing vegetable garden, to come over and give me some advice.