by Eleanor Tylbor
Today I'm feeling guilty even though there's no real reason for it. As a plant raiser it's common to assume the blame for the demise of a favoured specie and there's always the usual post-mortem 'should-have-would-have-could-have' that follows. It's bad enough having to deal with the death of one's own plants but when they belong to 'others' the guilt is disconcerting to say the least. What type of an explanation can be offered in the way of an excuse? It was an accident? A good news/bad news account i.e. your plant enjoyed living in the flower box and provided a flourish of color. Bad news: it croaked?
Am I anguished? Consumed with guilt? You bet!
A couple of weeks ago I was asked to intervene in some problematic tropical plants living in an indoor flower box that were slowly dying.
"You know all about house plants," were the exact words uttered by the owner who handed me the box in the hope of a miracle resurrection.
Do I know about plants! Moi! The person who once had a gardening show on public access television, focusing on how to get the best out of an almost-dead garden.
KNOW: (vb) knew/knowing; to perceive directly; have understanding or direct cognition of; also to recognize the nature of: to be acquainted or familiar with
Many green species from many sources have graced the corners and windows of our home ranging from your store-bought tropical and floral types to more earthly beginnings as fruit seeds. However death has stalked many - more than many - following my interventions. This isn't the type of information one divulges when asked to administer first aid of the chlorophyll-type.
Anyway, the ailing box of plants, a gift from a valued business acquaintance, held the primo position in the reception area where it could be admired by everyone entering the office. Once the deterioration process set in and the inevitable slip into the hanging on for dear life but not quite dead state, the plant was wisely removed from public view. It was for this reason it ended up on my doorstep, literally and figuratively.
Asking a self-professed "green-thumber" the seemingly innocent question as to whether a plant can be saved is akin to issuing a personal challenge, and intimating that there is doubt it can be achieved by mere human intercession. Many plant people consider themselves divinely blessed with special healing abilities.
A cursory examination revealed mini spider webs indicating flying visitors in a feasting mode. Let it be stated for the record that enlightening neophyte owners to the presence of spider mites is not a wise move, since it inevitably triggers a fit of scalp scratching followed by a quick departure. There wasn't even enough time to explain that spider mites are vegetarians.
Amateurs!
While towering over the plants to assess the extent of the problem there was this brief sensation of being omnipotent with the power of life and death in my hands. Following a brief pep talk that included a flourish of compliments regarding their leaves and species, they were given a natural pick-me-up tonic frequently administered to my own houseplants, consisting of dissolved gelatine powder in water. Most of my plants - those that remain - have always responded favourably by producing a flourish of new leaves. To maximize growth potential the box of plants was placed in an area that received diffused light but not direct sun light, which could burn their leaves. In retrospect those plants received better care than members of my family.
Eleanor's Plant Growing Diary
Day 1. Assessment of problem: black tips on leaves indicating something is wrong. Solution: give plants a healthy dose of dissolved gelatine in water
Day 2. One of the plants keeled over and died last night. Solution: remove evidencedead plant
Day 3. Black tips have extended down to cover half the leaves on some of the plants. Checked houseplant book for possible cause. None available although there was mention of an incurable virus. Solution: isolate plant to another area of the room that doesn't receive much light. A bad move on my part.
Day 4. Woke up to yet another dead plant. The box is beginning to look sparse. Solution: spread out leaves of remaining plants to make it appear more full than it is. Gave the plants another pep talk i.e. "please-oh-please no more death!"
Day 5. Completely and utterly demoralized. Out of the original six plants, only three live and two are ivy. I mean, who can kill ivy? Perhaps not a good question in light of current events. According to another plant book they probably acquired an incurable virus at point of origin, which cannot be cured, even with divine intervention or my help. Go explain that to the owner!
Day 6. Turned over soil with plastic spoon. Figured if it works in the garden, it couldn't do any harm in the box. Accidentally dug up an unseen plant originally thought to be dead
Day 7: Seriously considering replacing the "dearly departed" with some new plants. Problem exists in that I can't remember the types of plant and which went where
Day 8. Received a phone call from the owner as to an update and was advised that the box is being picked up. Panic!
Day 9. Owner will be here in an hour. Panic!
Day 10. Plant box has gone along with my credibility. I mean, it was only plants, after all! There was no reason for the name-calling! Gave owner one of my avocado plants in the way of an apology along with the assurance of free avocados within three months
In case anybody wants to know, the doctor is out. Got that?
