Think of staking as an art not a tedious garden job

Certainly I am not the only garden writer who dispenses advice she doesn’t follow. It is for this reason that I don’t feel a great amount of guilt about liberally applying the “do as I say, not as I do” rule. Rather than being disingenuous, I like to think of it as gaining experience in the wrong way to do things.

And there is no better example of this in my own garden than staking plants. My personal shortcomings in this arena have been on full display in the last few weeks as I have waded, in some cases shoulder deep, into the garden in an attempt to tame the jungle of tipping plants.

In the course of my quest to stand the garden back up again, I have collected innumerable bits of plant detritus in my hair, had more than one scare thinking I’d stumbled upon one of the unsettlingly healthy garter snakes that roam the garden and, most importantly, once again wondered how in the heck I ended up in this situation.

It takes a special kind of optimism to think that, after more than a decade of repeating this scenario, that somehow this would be the year that all the plants would magically defy gravity.

I may not be a reformed late staker yet, but I do have a new perspective on the task that might break me of the habit of ignoring it until I have no choice: Staking is art, not a garden job. 

The pinnacle of staking is to support a plant invisibly while preserving its natural shape, freezing the moment in time when it looks its best, just before it starts leaning over. This is accomplished by using the proper staking method for the plant. In some cases, a low ring or series of half-moon shaped supports, at other times a firm stake with twine, and at still others, netting or other metering through which stems grow is called for.

The hardware is as important as the method. “Britain’s head gardener” and darling of anglophile gardeners Monty Don casually bends steel rods into half moon shapes to support plants. Being a less resourceful gardener who has yet to find a source for these magical bendable steel rods, I opt for purchased supports that link together to create whatever shape is needed or use a peony or tomato cage.

Such supports allow large perennials such as false indigo (Baptisia) or tall-growing varieties of burnet (Sanguisorba) to remain upright but maintain a natural, relaxed vase shape.

Plants such as dahlias call for a single stake that requires careful placement, close enough to provide good support but without puncturing the tuber underground and pounded in to a height that can get lost in the foliage. Placement is easier when you place the stake before you plant the tuber, but height is harder to judge when there’s no plant, and then you’re left with a garden of stakes for weeks before they are needed.

I’m convinced that good staking is not another slap-dash job to be checked off a list, but, like many art forms, takes patience and practice. Perhaps that kind of reframing is what I need to stop staking procrastination and embrace the art.

Erin Schanen lives and gardens in the Town of Belgium. You can follow her at @impatientgardener on Instagram and @theimpatientgardener on YouTube.