Mammoth Gray Stripe

I just adore sunflowers. I'm not sure they're my absolute favorite, but they have a special place in my heart. Nearly every Thursday from spring to fall, I get a bunch of them at the Minneapolis Farmer's Market for my desk at work. And one of the few perks of a South Dakota road trip is driving past acres and acres of sunflower farms. As a beginning gardener, I grew a mini-sunflower last year called "Ballad" in a container on the veranda, and the birds loved it.

Given that I needed some more yellow in the back beds this year, I went out looking for standard-sized sunflowers to put there. When I asked at Mother Earth, the owner said she never stocks "normal-sized" sunflowers (er, um, Helianthus Annus) because they grow out of the seedling-sized pots in a matter of days. However, she assured me that they're very easy to grow from seed, sown right in the garden. (My favorite reference book on Minnesota Annuals said the same thing.) So she steered me to the seed display, where I found this little packet:

I reviewed the copy on the back of the packet. Hm. Easy to grow? Check. Attracts birds and butterflies? Check. Heirloom variety? Check. But then I got to a line in small print that read, "This packet contains enough seeds to plant a 100-foot hedge or privacy screen."

Now, I'm pretty sure that the entire perimeter of my backyard isn't 100 feet. That means that, if I accidentally drop the packet, the whole yard is gonna be sunflower city. Even scarier: what happens if I'm having a bad day, and come home and say "What the heck!" and fling them around everywhere? These things are ginormous; they have 12-inch flowers that can appear on the stalks by the dozen. They could take over all of Metropolis, people!

I bought them anyway and did plant a number of seeds around the fence. And now, we wait. Don't get me wrong -- I'm happy about the idea of sunflowers in the garden. It's just ... a 100-foot long privacy hedge from a little packet? That's pretty concentrated power. I'm not sure I'm responsible enough to be given sole control of these seeds. Who knows? Maybe the birds will eat a bunch of them and I won't have to worry about it. But until the seedlings sprout, I'm living in a state of both excitement and trepidation.