It's often occurred to me that you can divide up garden chores in lots of ways other than the traditional. Not that this broad-mindedness has done me any good. My husband still mows the lawn; he'll also help with major transplanting projects and the annual mulching if I make him feel guilty or, worse yet, threaten to pay somebody else to do it. He likes the garden, but would much rather be kayaking or reading than taking care of it.

I'm afraid he remembers all too well the summer I talked him into digging a pond in the back garden. We took a class together, bought a liner and pump, then he started in with the shovel. Of course the pond needed to be spacious enough for water lilies, and dug sufficiently deep for the goldfish to make it comfortably through the winter. But the soil was such nasty clay that we had to haul it away, and the digging and dirt moving lasted all summer long. That was our last joint garden project. Now I'm trying to talk him into helping me replace our remaining scrap of lawn with raised beds for vegetables and herbs. He refuses, pointing out I'm always scrambling to find time to tend the garden I already have. I really hate that voice of reason.

So I decided to talk with other couples to see how they share garden labor. Some of the stories I heard made me feel relieved. Sure, my husband doesn't work outdoors much, but at least he doesn't have opinions. Thank goodness he's never chosen a plant or paid any attention to where one should go (except if he is the one moving it around).
 

Now In Bloom Evergreen grasses such as Carex testacea brighten the garden in pots or as edging for walkways or borders. In summer the tidy 15-inch-high foliage of C. testacea is warm olive green with an overlay of copper, the russet tones predominating in full sun locations. At this time of year its narrow, glossy blades turn to shades of bright orange and rich bronze. This small grass is nearly self-sufficient and looks good in all seasons, thriving in most soils as well as containers.

"I've given up on designing a nice garden to preserve my marriage," says Sue Nicol, education director at the Center for Urban Horticulture and former horticulturist at the Woodland Park Zoo. Her husband Dave is a cactus fancier, and you can hear the frustration in Sue's voice when she describes how all 180 of his cacti grow large and bloom lustily. Their Wallingford garden is divided distinctly in two: Sue gets the shade and Dave takes every inch of sun for his prickly prizes. There isn't all that much space to go around anyway, since much of the back garden is taken up by the greenhouse Dave built to shelter the cacti in winter. Every April, the cacti emerge from the greenhouse to crowd the deck and south side of the house. Last summer, Dave left Sue room to grow a couple of pots of basil and tomatoes, but it was hazardous to get near enough to pick them. "It's an interesting mosaic of plants," sighs Sue, describing a woodland garden of ferns and hosta existing side by side with a cactus collection. "He's out there with his plants and I'm out there with mine."

Author David Laskin, who gardens in Shoreline, should probably consider it a good thing when he says of his wife, "Kate is decidedly not a gardener, and in fact she is so uninterested that when she actually notices something I consider it a triumph." Even though it drives him crazy when the dogs smash down a stand of flax and Kate reminds him that the poor dears were only playing.

Lee Neff, editor of the Washington Park Arboretum Bulletin, likens how she and her husband John care for their large Seward Park garden to a romp on the playground. "John and I have perfected the art of 'parallel play,' the characteristic pattern of 2-year olds," she says. Her area includes the garden beds, vegetable garden and seed catalogs. John plays with kitchen scraps and leaves, and in around the worm bin and compost piles. Last summer, while Lee indulged in relentless weeding, pruning and considerable summer watering, John created a little excitement on his part of the playground. In August one of his compost bins spontaneously combusted. I know you're supposed to get compost nice and warm, but this must be a whole new phenomenon. The neighbors raced over in their pajamas to squelch the flames. John rebuilt the singed bin, and now Lee is busy raking leaves and cutting down plants to fill it back up.