Readers confess their biggest gardening mistakes

Everyone makes mistakes in the garden, and I'm no exception. My biggest is one I repeat over and over as if I were Bill Murray in the movie "Groundhog Day": I move plants at the wrong time, often at the absolutely worst time. I think my brain is programmed against following my own advice. I know it shouldn't be done. I know I'm taking a risk.

And yet, time and again, as if I'm incapable of learning from experience, I transplant roses, shrubs and perennials at the height of summer. And I know full well that digging up a plant when it's actively growing will place an incredible amount of stress on it - stress that, more often than not, ends up spelling certain death.

I have nothing to offer in my defense except this: I can't bear to look at a plant in the wrong place for an entire season. That, and I'm something of a daredevil. I get the same feeling when, during the commute home, I notice the gas tank is nearly empty. Will I make it? Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. Unfortunately, there's no AAA for gardeners.

I know I'm not alone. Recently, I asked readers to join me in the confessional and share their biggest gardening mistakes.

Here are my favorites:

Marilyn Horan, Brooklyn

I spent a lot of money on beer in the summer of 2009. Sometimes I went on beer runs twice a day, and even at night when the only places open were 24-hour stores. My husband, Frank, told me that our backyard smelled like a brewery. He would see me with a bottle in my hand and shake his head, asking, "You're not at it again, are you?"

It began in late May when I put my six Spathiphyllum plants, also called peace lilies, in a shady part of the backyard for their annual summer vacation. About a month later I noticed that the plants were being ravaged by some voracious critter. A little research in a couple of garden books revealed that the culprits were slugs and snails. The gardener's guides mentioned that they also ate basil and hostas, and sure enough, my basil was being decimated and my hostas were holey. I typically have a nature-loving attitude, but I took exception when it came to these gastropods - literally stomachs with feet. My newfound vengeance sprang me up from bed each morning and kept me prowling in the yard late at night.

Some people suggested pouring salt on the slugs. I thought that cruel: I may be a murderer, but I'm not a sadist. So I followed the most recommended method - sinking plant saucers into the soil and filling them with beer, the gastropods' favorite beverage. The first morning I was delighted, in a perverse way, to see the saucers crowded with huge dead slugs, stuffed in like sardines and about the same size. I had begun with three saucers of brewski but soon increased that to about 20, which necessitated the purchase of more and more beer.

Thanks to the Internet and my gardening books, there is little I now do not know about slugs and snails: Their stomachs release slime so that they can slide toward food, protection and one another. They can stretch their bodies up to 20 times their length to squeeze through a tiny hole to get to food. And a factoid on a Snapple cap revealed that they also have teeth, lots of them.

As with any addiction, I needed more. The horticultural books revealed that slugs like to feed at night, when they can easily be picked off a plant - and killed. My habit became nocturnal and personal. I'd get out of bed in the middle of the night to shine a light on my hostas, hoping for just one more hit.

And I perfected the necessary tools: Long rubber gloves insured I wouldn't be in contact with any of the slug-goo. A good flashlight was necessary to spot the dastards eating a hosta or sliming their way to a trap. A set of tongs provided distance. I also needed a plastic pail filled with hot water and ingredients guaranteed to kill: water and vinegar. Once I made the mistake of skimping on the vinegar, and one managed to climb out of the bucket and was slipping across the handle. I screamed so loud that Frank stuck his head out the upstairs window to ask if I was OK.

Next I had to figure out a way to dispose of the bodies. I wound up toting the sloshing bucket to the back of the yard, where I buried the lot in shallow graves. One time I counted 156.

When fall arrived, it was time to move the plants back inside. Since my Spathiphyllum served as breeding grounds for the enemy, I had to remove the plants from their containers, wash all traces of dirt off them, sterilize the pots, and replant them with store-bought soil. They showed their appreciation by growing large and green and sending up white shoots.

From now on, I intend to protect them and all my other garden plants the same way - but with less beer and with more economical and ecological methods: copper bands around the plants to shock the creatures, diatomaceous earth to dry them out, better yard sanitation to remove slug eggs, a different type of mulch, and earlier intervention.

I'm sure Frank will be happier and so will my garden. And I believe Frank will never again order escargots.

Lee Stevens, East Patchogue

Last year, in the middle of a chickweed invasion, I purchased some weed killer, which is applied by a bottle attached to a garden hose. After a quick glance at the directions, I adjusted the concentration setting and began spraying. Although I was a little surprised at emptying the bottle on my first pass, I completed the spraying.

Over the next few weeks, my lawn became browner and browner, finally winding up completely brown. I had set the spray bottle setting without my reading glasses and evidently applied way too much product to my beautiful lawn, which now looked like a desert.

I decided to punish my stupidity by renovating the lawn myself with only my wife, Terry, to help. Well, seven yards - or 57 large wheelbarrows - of topsoil later, my lawn was reseeded and I was left to ponder life's little lessons: Alwaysuse your reading glasses for directions!

Keith Romano, Merrick

Every growing season in my small garden, my zucchini plants face the same problem - the dreaded vine borer. I've tried everything to get rid of this pest but fail each time.

This year I thought I was clever when I decided to "spear" the little buggers with a hat pin. I took my hat pin and jabbed the lower stem of the plant four or five times, hoping to nail the monster.

Feeling victorious, the next morning I went out back to check my plant. I stood in shock when I saw my lone zucchini plant deflated, like the air of life had left it as it sat all limp and . . . dead.

Evelyn Morales, Valley Stream

Last year for the first time, I planted string bean plants six inches apart. Since I compost and make my own soil, everything I plant usually does well. Not only did these nine plants grow, but they were growing out of control into one another. I thought this would not be good.

The biggest gardening mistake I made was to dig them up. I separated them and replanted them, again six inches apart. Ultimately, I was unable to save any of them.

The biggest lesson learned was this: If the plant is happy and thriving, leave well enough alone. As long as the soil is rich, crowded plants will not be harmed. I was too concerned with keeping them neat. This year, I planted string beans again. They are looking healthy and, yes, messy, and I've collected string beans every other day. Gardening mistakes are a blessing in disguise.

Dora Sementilli, Deer Park

Two years ago, I wanted to "go green," so I started a compost pile. I was very excited and it made such a big difference in our lives. We had less garbage, and it was nice knowing that if we did not eat our fruits and vegetables, they would not go to waste.

In the spring I put the compost by my hydrangeas in front of the house. The nourishment would be good for them. A few weeks later, my husband and I noticed something growing, but we were not quite sure what it was: A weed? A wildflower?

We left it alone, curious now. My neighbors would ask me, "Dora, what's the flower you planted?" I didn't know. We'd have to wait and see.

We are all amazed by what we have gotten: A cantaloupe patch! This "mistake" definitely is giving back to Mother Nature - and Mother Nature giving back to me.