Once you realize how many plants can be squeezed into every square foot of garden space, you've started the slide down the slippery slope of overplanting. The seemingly innocent little mantra "It's all one root ball under the ground anyway" has justified many a serious plant addiction.

Perhaps the most confusing thing for a new gardener is figuring out how to arrange plants in the ground. If you paid attention to recommended planting distances, your garden would, for years, look scantily dotted about with isolated outcroppings of plants. Once you break the rules and see how great plants look in close relationship to each other, there is no going back. After all, what's exciting and endlessly interesting are the patterns plants make when they nudge each other, weave, climb and mingle. Sure, you lose a few plants, and sometimes even pathways or patios, but such losses are a small price to pay for the daily theatrics of a dynamic garden.

Now In Bloom The sunflower Helianthus annuus 'Music Box' is short (to 2 feet), bushy and branched, with flowers ranging from creamy yellow to mahogany. The center disks are dark chocolate brown, and some of the petals are bicolored with bronze shading over gold petals. 'Music Box' needs full sun and moderately fertile soil. It grows easily from seed.

If I've ever had second thoughts about my reckless planting, I have only to remember my dismay at a visit to Sun City West in Arizona, where I never saw a plant within three feet of another living thing. Each cactus stood starkly alone, with oceans of gravel (often an unfortunate shade of pink or, worse, pearly white) spread between it and the next cactus. The effect was so rigid and bleak that I greeted the sight of scarlet bougainvillea clambering over a wall at Taliesen West (Frank Lloyd Wright's winter home) with the relief of a parched desert wanderer at first glimpse of a shimmering oasis.

There are many advantages to thickly planted gardens. Water evaporates more slowly and weeds are discouraged when the ground is thoroughly covered. You can try out a great many plants. There's no excuse for spreading chunks of orange bark. Diversely planted gardens have fewer disease and insect problems. They're magnets for birds, bees and butterflies that sup on the profusion of plantings and shelter in the tangle of foliage. Best of all, such a garden is always compelling; something is budding, blooming, fruiting or declining every day.

However, as my garden comes up on its first decade, I'm beginning to fully appreciate the downside of overplanting. Fearless planting results in a fearsome amount of work, I'm afraid. Full, fluffy and naturalistic equals an astounding pile of biomass to deal with each year, either by composting it or carting it away. If I don't develop carpal tunnel syndrome from all the cutting back it will be a miracle. And throwing more plants at a problem area sometimes creates more problems. It has taken me a long time to learn that subtraction is also a solution, and sometimes the better one.

So I'm taking out, pruning back, trying to recapture the long buried lines and edges of the garden. I'm becoming more interested in formality and order (OK, not very interested). I force myself to take something out for every new plant added. (I cheat by adding more and more containers. But this doesn't count.) I'm trying to strike a balance between a garden sufficiently lush to amaze, excite and teach me about plants, but controlled enough so I don't despair over the amount of work needed to keep any semblance of order. I haven't figured it out yet — but I'll keep you posted.