Penstemon Peril

While I consider myself a reasonably successful gardener, there are a few plants I have yet to be successful with--and by successful I mean not kill them. Penstemon is one of those.

I love Penstemon. I have planted multiple varieties and killed each and every one of them. No matter what winter precautions I have taken to insure their success, when I stumble out of my house in early spring, eyes blinking in the weak sunlight, I find nothing more than dead sticks above rotten roots every time.

Scarlet Queen is my favorite victim, with beautiful red and white polka dotted flowers that look like something Mary Engelbreit would paint. I've killed four of them in three years. All of them were purchased from different nurseries---not because I blame the nursery for the plant's failure to thrive, but because if I had returned to the same nursery year after year, I'm afraid they would report me to the Plant Protection Society and I would be placed on the No Plant List for Penstemon.

There was the lovely purple Penstemon my sister gave me to celebrate my surviving living next door to the Neighbors From Hell. To hear my sister tell it, if I had died from the experience she would have sent flowers to the funeral anyway, so I may as well enjoy a plant to celebrate my survival. I pointed out that perhaps all this talk of death was a bit over the top and she asked me if I wanted to argue about hyperbole or did I want to get a shovel and plant my plant? I got a shovel and planted my plant...

Where it survived exactly one summer.