Really, we never intended to be cruel to our hanging plants and now they’re paying us back. They can best be described in a state loitering between life and death, more to the latter as of today. In the end, it really doesn’t matter how honourable our intentions were because plants aren’t interested in excuses.
Every May we visit the various garden centers in search of a species that will stand out visually, add pizazz to our condo balcony, is easy to care for and are tough plants. Is that a lot to ask? The latter is important since we live near a river where it’s always windy, which in turn dries out the soil necessitating constant replenishment of water.
It was instant love-at-first-sight when we spotted calibrachoa, a relatively new species that resembles mini petunias overflowing with branches of coloured blooms, growing in a plastic hanging container. The mixture of bright yellow and orange flowers stole our hearts and judgement, obviously. Given the lush but overflowing state of the greenery and the size of the pot, we ignored the warning signs that over-crowding could be a problem. More flowers equals flashier showing, we assumed, plus the garden center clerk assured us the specie was easy to grow. Good enough reason for purchase, we decided.
Visually, they provided a visually colourful sight swaying in the wind but watering the plant was difficult, since it was almost impossible to know when or if the water was reaching the roots. To ensure that they were being adequately hydrated they received a half-litre of water, a lot of which seeped out the planter holes.
Rarely do we take a summer vacation that takes us away for more than a few days but this year was an exception. This meant that the plants were on their own for a week at the mercy of Mother Nature for liquid hydration. In retrospect we could have asked a neighbour to plant sit or if our plants could join someone else's plants on their balcony, but we didn’t. We believed that our plants would take care of themselves in our absence. Silly us! We took them down and placed near the balcony railing dependent upon natural conditions to provide a balance of sun and rain. Having watered the plants well and giving them a pep talk along with apologies, we left assuming they would be alive upon our return. Again, silly us.
It never occurred to us that the plants would or could – well – die or would give up in a mere week without water. Actually, they should have lasted longer but given their crowded state, their root systems most likely were packed too tightly together. Personally, I blame the seed company for over-crowding. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it! Much to our dismay, we returned to a brown-branched, somewhat shrivelled up and crispy dried out plant. What was once a colourful, lush and vibrant orange/yellow plant was now a collection of brown shrivelled-up branches of crispy nothing-ness. Rather than toss them out immediately, instead they were given a liberal watering and decided to monitor the situation for a week after which a decision would have to be made as to their viability. On the fourth day, one of the plants started turning green at the tips of the branches and suddenly some flowers appeared, leading us to believe that a miraculous re-birth was imminent – and still more flowers. Unfortunately, it was a short lived omen and the green has turned to a deathly pallor of grey-ish/brown-ish. Such teases, our plants!
It’s obvious, at least to me that once new plant raisers and owners take over from garden centers to become the care givers to plants, we become responsible for their well being. Plants do not and will not stand for excuses and neither do they tolerate long-ish absences. Unless there’s another re-birth, tonight we’ll be bidding adieu to the calibrachoa duo on the river bank, at sunset. It will be a short ceremony to match our short relationship. It’s the least we could do.
Showing posts with label directory of house plants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label directory of house plants. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Thursday, November 08, 2007
THE PLANT DOCTOR IS OUT!
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?
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?
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Day 2: fittonia update: the news is not so good
So as instructed on the plastic information stick(?) I've been keeping my fittonia away from direct light...whatever that means. Presumably, it's telling me to keep it away from the sun.
Check.
The stick instructions also maintain that it doesn't like too much water.
Check.
However, barely 24 hours in my care and home, the tips of the leaves don't look so well. They are sort-of shrivelling and turning the dreaded brownish-blackish.
A consult was in order so I thumbed through the pages of my "Directory of House Plants" for some help or direction to take. According to the book Fitty needs high humidity and my house is drrrry. This does not bode well. The proverbial icing on the cake is the sentence: "Difficult to keep unless the humidity is high, but plants do well in a bottle garden."
Bottle garden?
This got me thinking. Perhaps - just perhaps - I could slice the top off a 2 litre soft drink bottle and Fitty could move in. Kind of a "bubble plant" type of existence. The attention value would be great especially when friends visit.
"Um...I don't want to seem instrusive," one of my nosy friends would most likely comment, "but is there any reason why your plant is in a Coke bottle?"
Going into lengthy explanations as to the rationale behind my move i.e. bottle+humidity=life for Fitty, would just make me appear even more weird than they already believe I am. Or I could place Fitty in a plastic zip-lock bag sprayed with water and see what happens.
So today Fitty is moving in to a zip lock bag. Maybe it'll work...or maybe it won't. More reports forthcoming.
Check.
The stick instructions also maintain that it doesn't like too much water.
Check.
However, barely 24 hours in my care and home, the tips of the leaves don't look so well. They are sort-of shrivelling and turning the dreaded brownish-blackish.
A consult was in order so I thumbed through the pages of my "Directory of House Plants" for some help or direction to take. According to the book Fitty needs high humidity and my house is drrrry. This does not bode well. The proverbial icing on the cake is the sentence: "Difficult to keep unless the humidity is high, but plants do well in a bottle garden."
Bottle garden?
This got me thinking. Perhaps - just perhaps - I could slice the top off a 2 litre soft drink bottle and Fitty could move in. Kind of a "bubble plant" type of existence. The attention value would be great especially when friends visit.
"Um...I don't want to seem instrusive," one of my nosy friends would most likely comment, "but is there any reason why your plant is in a Coke bottle?"
Going into lengthy explanations as to the rationale behind my move i.e. bottle+humidity=life for Fitty, would just make me appear even more weird than they already believe I am. Or I could place Fitty in a plastic zip-lock bag sprayed with water and see what happens.
So today Fitty is moving in to a zip lock bag. Maybe it'll work...or maybe it won't. More reports forthcoming.
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