Lady's Mantle is the very definition of a "toothed" leaf, isn't it? The edges look like the saw blade on the old hand saw I use for wood projects out in the garage (I haven't graduated to power tools), so maybe the term should be "saw toothed" instead of just "toothed", but anyway, they are distinctive and lovely. I read somewhere that Lady's Mantle makes a good underplanting for rose bushes, and so I have been dividing mine each year and transplanting them under the large shrub roses and between the smaller ones, where I sometimes think they might be trying to stage a coup. Nevertheless, Lady's Mantle makes a nice companion for the roses, both species ruffled and round, exuberant and dewy-eyed. The misty, yellow flowers work well in rose bouquets, too, giving a vintage, cottage garden look. The flowers, of course, eventually turn to brown and are less appealing, but can be cut back so that they rebloom to work well with late summer flowers like Brown-Eyed Susans and purple asters.

The leaves of Lady's Mantle, however, are the main attraction for me. This close-up photo shows the Lady's Mantle's teeth and the sought-after dew drops, but also some brown spots on the leaves. Unlike a glamour shot, this amateur photo shows a lady's face just as it is, age spots and all. We can choose to look at the spots (and perhaps to eradicate their cause), or to focus on the graceful shape of the leaf, the way it works together with its sisters to form a pleasing mound in countless shades of green. We can look at the deep veins that feed it and see the symmetry of its construction and the genius of its design. Simple and unassuming, Lady's Mantle does not seem to mind being seen without retouching, or being compared to an old saw blade. It just keeps on growing, keeps on giving. I just keep on transplanting. If my blog disappears one day, you may assume that the Lady's Mantle coup has at last been totally successful.