I may never get to making a botanical inventory of my garden, much less my whole property, which includes fifteen acres of woods with some of the most gorgeous (to me) plants on the face of the earth, but it occurred to me the other day that I could make a photographic inventory of my clematises so that I might finally be able to find out what their names are by comparing my photos to online photos. Focusing on a single bloom from a plant renowned for having so many blooms gives that flower such dignity. I could almost feel this one's pride as I took its picture.

This clematis was planted by the south side of our house when we moved in. It had no name tag attached. The first spring it was a tall tangle of brown that I didn't know what to do with, never having had a clematis before. I was advised to cut back some of the brown and to leave some so that I would be able to tell if it bloomed on old wood or new. I did as directed, but it was here that the directions broke down, because as I got busy with the rest of the gardens I neglected to watch for where the plant bloomed. Over the years, it has been a largely neglected child, always eager and green, but seldom blooming. Last fall I decided to give it new hope: I cut it to the ground. This summer it has rewarded me with a nice (not immense, you understand) array of flowers. I think we may have come to an understanding.

Cutting in the fall is a routine I understand. Cutting back partially is not. So whether or not I ever learn the names of my six clematises, I now know I have at least three that love being cut back along with the peonies and Siberian irises. Some inventories have numbers. Some have names. Some are just a dream--like my botanical inventory dream. But they all start with a single plant.