Secret of the Montauks

I have an alternate reality that, in a certain light or summer air, pokes a hole in this one. It’s the parallel universe in which I did graduate from Brown, married a jerk who nonetheless made a very good living that enabled the purchase of a second home, had kids driven neurotic by the fact that their parents hated each other, got a divorce by reason of (his) adultery, and received the Montauk house, my designated place of privacy and solace, in the settlement.


So, even though I’ve never been there, Montauk has a place in my heart, and in homage, a couple of years ago, I planted four Montauk daisies in my garden.
They are both my joy and my despair: a joy because they bloom in September, a memory of Summer, and a despair because I have never been able to get them quite right.
More often than not, the Montauks will be glorious, full bushes throughout the entire summer, only to turn to leggy stems with ugly yellow and black, rotted leaves in the Fall. The flowers do make a handsome display, but you have to consciously direct your eye to them, like standing in a part of Seattle that is all buildings and power lines while focusing on the beauty of Mount Rainier.
I’ve asked other gardeners whether I should clip back my Montauks in the Spring to fix this, but have been told not to. This didn’t persuade me, but I hadn’t found an answer online, either.
So, yesterday, at the County Fair, I consulted one of our real local horticultural gurus, a nice lady who was holding court in an area reserved for the Master Gardeners.
As I suspected she would, she advised me to clip them not once but twice, in early and late May.
It’s way too late to do any pruning now, but I’ve made a particular effort to water the Montauks to the limits of patience, and I’m hoping that the extra care make them a tad more presentable later on, when the kids walk by the house on their way to school.