Staring At My Garden

I have learned pretty much everything I know about plants and gardening from "staring" at my garden. It hasn't really come from the many books I've read over the years or from my near-decade-long stint as a Botany professor. It has come from watching my plants. My first three books written for the University of Florida Press arose from my firsthand experiences with plants. I've found it impossible otherwise. Books can give us a head start on what we might expect, but they can't compensate for experience. Plants in a landscape do not always conform to what is expected of them.
My first wife used to routinely chastise me for going outside to "stare at my garden."  It was her way to telling me that I was wasting time that could have been spent doing something more productive. She was wrong. My daily forays into my garden is what tells me what is working and what is not. When people tell me that they do not have a "green thumb", what they really mean is that they have never stared at their plants in any real sense. As gardeners, we form a relationship with our plants not unlike ones we forge with our pets. It can be a lifetime relationship with a shade tree or a more-fleeting one with a perennial wildflower, but it's a meaningful relationship nonetheless and it requires us to watch them and tinker a bit if something is not going well. Plants will tell us how they are doing if we simply pay attention.
If we stare closely, we will see if they are actively growing or slowly declining; we'll see if they are blooming and forming fruit or if they are skipping this process because something is amiss. There is no other way if we are to be an effective gardener and a steward of the plants we have adopted into our landscapes. I treasure the time I have each day to study my plants, watching their progress, and witnessing the life they attract. On days when I am too busy to putter about for an hour or so, I resent my work that keeps me away.
Over the years, I have likely killed more plants in my landscape than had success with. To me, that is a necessary evil of gardening. In all truthfulness, I have learned a lot more in life from my mistakes than I ever have from my successes. In gardening, my successes may have simply been flukes - good dumb luck. My mistakes have taught me in an educated sort of way. People tell me all the time that they have tried something once and it died - insinuating that the particular plant was either too difficult or simply not adapted to their site. it is their way of saying that they will use something else in the future. What they really mean is that they were unwilling to explore the reason for their failure. I have tried some species many many times before figuring out why they had perished previously. My eventual success brings me more joy than the easy successes I've had with others.
There are just so many factors that come into play. For one, each individual plant comes with its own genetics. Some are simply tougher than others. If I plant multiples of any species in my landscape, some perform better than others. It's not the gardener's fault necessarily. Sometimes, a plant that is seemingly healthy looking hides a defect that only surfaces after it is planted. Of course, the best indicator of a healthy plant is its root system and that is hidden in a pot when you make the purchase. My advice is to gently ease a plant from its pot and examine the root ball before you pick the specimen that you will eventually buy.
Sometimes, we simply put a plant in the wrong location - too much or too little sun, the wrong soil conditions, too much competition, etc. Here where I live, the ever-popular firebush (Hamelia patens) is supposedly easy. At my Seminole home, I killed every one that I planted. I tried them in several locations and each time they slowly declined and then perished. Birds eventually planted two of them and these are still actively growing in that landscape. If we are to create truly living landscapes, we need a landscape plan that incorporates the species that will accomplish our objectives. We don't give up on a plant the first, second, or third time. We "stare" at them, evaluate how they are doing, and then try them again by altering something that they seem to need that wasn't provided well before.
As I plan my new landscape, I plan to use a number of native plants that are not native to my region of Florida. I have killed them in the past and I've been eventually successful. You can't read this in a book, you need to study your plants firsthand and always continue to move forward. My advice is to value the time you have to "stare" at your garden.