It’s a bit of a shock to wake up years later and find you can’t remember what you had for dinner the night before.

I exaggerate perhaps just a little, but in short, life gets complicated and the ten percent of our brains that we actually use are quickly filled with information we heartily wish we didn’t know. 1040As replace Form EZs. Soon you know what ‘escrow’ means. Once you’ve passed that electrifying milestone, you very quickly learn what caulk does, how to apply it, and how to make a vulgar joke whilst ostensibly discussing home improvement.

Details crowd out details. Your children force you to recall aspects of your calculus education you were happy to forget the moment you passed the test, and your accountant forces you to recall aspects of your personal finance class you never knew in the first place.

You have an accountant. You have to remember where her office is.

The next thing you know you’re standing with a friend in your garden discussing the ridiculous plot twists of The Walking Dead over eight interminable but not-to-be-missed years, and when she asks the name of the glorious tree under which you both stand, your mouth opens and nothing comes out.

Never mind that you researched, sought and secured it just six years before.

Which brings me, just as interminably, to plant labelling. We say it’s for our visitors, but it’s really for us.

There are several schools of thought about labelling one’s plants – let’s discuss them.

THE BAD PLAN

Don’t label. Try to remember. That’s it. Try to remember a specific Japanese maple in a grove of other Japanese maples with Japanese names…in (hint) Japanese – particularly when you’re walking your guests around with a glass of wine and speaking garbled English at best.

THE NOT-SO-GREAT PLAN

Keep a detailed record of all purchases and plantings in a journal far away from the actual purchases and plantings. You know, somewhere you won’t be able to see it when your friend asks you what tree that is and you’re forced to start discussing The Walking Dead again.

THE BETTER PLAN

Keep a stash of labels in your pockets with a sharpie. When you plant, plant a label too. When your chickens and/or curious children pull up the entirety of all labels in the garden because they were white and interesting, have a nervous breakdown and spend the rest of the evening with the above garden journal and a flashlight.

THE BEST PLAN

Spend money.

Yes. It has come to that. I’m going to tell you to spend money.

However, speaking as one who would rather do without than not be able to make do, I feel I am exceptionally qualified to tell you that it’s worth it.

Fifteen years ago I thought I’d just remember. Ten years ago I got a journal. Seven years ago I broke down and left paper hints that also broke down…in five days. Two years ago, though it hurt, I spent real money and bought packets of white, never used, labels. That was good, but the guinea hens were worse than the chickens and the children combined. One year ago, I spent further real money and bought aluminum tags from Gempler’s that could be pressure engraved with a pen and attached to a tree or woody shrub.

It was a start.

Today, I’m ordering a Brother P-touch D600, 50 12-inch stainless steel Kincaid labels and I’m not looking back. As the garden matures, I may even think about introducing a bit of technology to my trees with cool, digitally interactive labels from PlantsMap.

Quite simply, I’ve been to too many first class gardens, looked at too many first class plants and almost wept when the plant for which I lusted was not only labeled, but clearly labelled. The most recent garden, that of Bill and Linda Pinkham (of former Smithfield Nurseries fame), is a perfect example of how labels don’t necessarily have to distract from the display. Placed discretely and (most importantly) used regularly they provide a guide for your visitors and a fabulous aide memoire for you.

Cons? Money, obviously. And I know that Chanticleer Gardens in Wayne, PA (which does not label plants) has a few thoughts upon the matter too. They have painted a canvas with flora, knocked you over with shock and awe, and they don’t want you to get caught up in the minutiae while you’re reeling. However, by the time you come to, there are plant lists and bustling interns to help you find what you seek.

If I ever get an intern, she won’t have time to look at you, much less talk to you. I’m going with a label maker.