Friday, November 13, 2015

Enthusiastic, Passionate, Committed Gardener?

Are you an enthusiastic, passionate, committed gardener? Perhaps you're regarded less charitably by your family and friends as a touch eccentric, nay, even a little nutty? Ignore them; it's perfectly all right to be ardent about your pastime.

Most people display passion about something in their lives, although it's usually something that's strangely more socially acceptable, such as: being a rabid sports fan, a follower of the Kardashian saga, or waxing a car. However, admit to relishing the earthy fragrance of compost or brag about your prize peonies on a coffee break and you're soon relegated to the outer fringes.

And yet only a generation or so back, almost everyone was a gardener and it was considered a normal part of life. A patch of ground and a packet of seeds was how the family was fed. That's when a blackberry really was a blackberry. Meanwhile, flowers were grown to brighten the home and feed the soul.

Somehow, we're losing this challenge, this connection with nature. It can't be found in fast food, plastic flowers, or in the fragrance of an air freshener. It's in the elation felt when a seed sprouts, the taste of a fruit or vegetable that you grew yourself, or in seeing the soul feeding magic of petals unfolding. A garden is where the life enriching spiritual connection between mankind and this precious earth is the strongest.

With increasing concern about what we are eating, where it comes from, and what's in the food, plus the realization that we've cocooned ourselves in an unsustainable world; it may be that soon we'll come full circle and fully appreciate the skills of the serious gardener.


But how passionate and committed are you — to the point where eyebrows are raised or eyes roll? Do you go out in the garden for a few minutes and disappear for the day, no matter what the weather? Are you constantly moving plants around in your garden? Do you visit a garden centre and return with more plants than you can possibly find room for in your garden? Do you pull weeds in friends' gardens — or even public gardens? Do neighbours lock their doors and hide when they see your zucchinis ripening? These are all signs of a passionate, committed gardener — or should be. Who said that? Who said he's nuts?

Friday, November 6, 2015

Bloom or Bust

“How do I get my Christmas cactus to bloom in time for Christmas?” Sorry, I can’t help. It’s too late. This is really not the best time to offer solutions to the big question. Early fall might have been a better time to bring up the subject, but no one was thinking about Christmas cactus in September. You might be thinking about it now, but the time to do anything has passed.

This all came about as I was wandering around my local monster hardware store last week during a family excursion to buy paint. I don’t know why, but going there always seems more like a visit to a popular tourist attraction than a shopping trip — crowds, long line-ups, and hot dog vendors.

While we were in the store waiting for the paint to be mixed, I wandered over to a nearby rack that had caught my attention — it was full of bright red and green items,  more colourful than the pastel paints I’d been staring at for twenty minutes trying to decide between blue, blue, or a different blue. And no, it wasn’t an early shipment of the Poinsettias, it was a large  display of Christmas cactus plants. They were all in bloom doing their darnedest to entice shoppers to buy, a classic case of plant marketing -- sell while in bloom and let the petals fall where they may. 

Sadly, the ambient temperature might have been fine for keeping the paint flowing, but it was much warmer than these plants prefer. They were being subjected to a lot of movement, too, as shoppers picked them up and sorted through them, looking for something that wouldn't clash with the new wallpaper they'd just purchased. And they were under lights that hardly ever turn off — all the wrong conditions to promote blooming. However, at a buck fifty each they were a deal for those wily gardeners who are able to restore life to a dead stick.

Fortunately, the Christmas cactus (CC) is a resilient plant, and with a little care can potentially outlive the average shopper, but the plants I saw on display will likely have dropped all their blooms by Christmas day, and consequently far too many will go out with the wrapping paper, just like the other red and green Christmas plant, the one that every year is looking more and more like Christmas wrapping paper. But, with a little care, a CC can live for years and produce a show of blooms that the P plant can only ever dream of.

So buy now while the plants are on sale, but don’t worry about whether it will be in bloom this Christmas. We’re thinking about next year, we’re planning ahead. 

Friday, October 30, 2015

The Garden Shed of Doom

It may be Halloween, but I don't believe there are any ghosts or goblins lurking about in my garden, although a person might possibly be startled by Gneville. He's only a garden gnome, although in the dark I suppose he could be mistaken for a goblin, or one of the other malevolent denizens of the underworld, but then he doesn't have an evil grin. It's more of a silly smirk, making him about as scary as Barney the Dinosaur in a field of daisies.

As for ghosts, plenty of slugs and earwigs have met their end in my garden, in most cases rather suddenly. I suppose if they had souls and were inclined to do a little haunting, they'd be back to settle the score, but after a good frost, I've never seen a live one, let alone an apparition.

There are, however, plenty of folk who've believed all along that slugs are creatures from the dark side, and would rather think they don't exist in this world. So often, I hear complaints from daytime gardeners of holes appearing mysteriously in the leaves of plants, whole leaves missing, even complete vegetable gardens disappearing overnight. Trails of ectoplasm criss-cross flowerbeds supporting their belief that it must be some ghostly monster.

I've never been a believer in ghosts or monsters from the other side — common, or garden, but it's easy enough to be spooked in a garden after dark. There are always creepy things happening during the night — strange sounds, slitherings, clinging spider webs, and of course, raspberry canes that grope and grasp and won't let go. But these things don't frighten me.

I will admit, however, to being startled one night by a pair of eyes glaring at me from the back corner of the shed — probably just a cat or a rabbit I said to myself as I pitched the trowel and slammed the door shut behind me. For months, I avoided the shed after dark.

If you have reason to go into a garden shed at night, cough loudly, rattle the handle, and then kick the door before entering — and carry a your biggest hoe. And keep an eye on garden gnomes. Don't let the silly smirks fool you.

Friday, October 23, 2015

Three Alarm Fire

As usual, fall has been a blaze of colour with three-alarm fires everywhere. The hottest, brightest flames on show were most likely Euonymus alatus, appropriately named the burning bush. There's a grouping of them near the train station in Waterloo that were amazingly bright.
I have a Euonymus alatus in my garden. It is not ablaze. The best it has ever done is smoulder like a wet campfire on a May 24 weekend. It's one of the first shrubs I planted in my garden and it's been somewhat disappointing.
In the early days, old alatus flared up occasionally, but over the years it's never achieved the same fiery luminosity of others in my neighbourhood. Even now, after a brilliant fall, most of the leaves are a dull green, and the ones that have changed colour only look as though someone spilled cheap red wine on them. In fact, I should take a closer look as we did have a birthday party around here last week, but I didn't think the wine was that bad. No, my burning bush has been a disappointment. Dull, dull, dull.
Despite being a failure in my garden as the self-actualizing arsonist of the plant world, it has fulfilled other roles reasonably well, providing a pleasant green backdrop to summer flowering plants, while maintaining balance with other shrubs and trees nearby.
But it mainly filled a gap, and a gap filler is not what I need when I'm running out of space for new plants. This is why I've been slowly coming around to the realization that the burning bush has to go. I can't blame it for the lack of colour change. Fifteen years ago it was in sunshine, but now the shrubs and trees in that corner of the garden dwarf it, and consequently it's in almost full shade, which I suspect is one reason why it doesn't burn brightly, although I've seen others that do well without full sun.
My mind is almost made up. It has to go. I just have to bring myself to do it. There's no denying that Euonymus alatus is a good, easy to grow, trouble-free shrub. So trouble free and easy to grow, in fact, that it's become an invasive pest in milder US states like Connecticut or Virginia. Don't let this deter you from planting your own if you have a bright place for one. Around here, the winters are cold enough that it stays firmly put.
It grows well in most conditions and tolerates different soils, but isn't crazy about wet conditions. It can handle being in shade, albeit with subdued fall colour, and pests are rarely a problem. A natural vase-shape makes it an attractive specimen plant, yet it can also be grown and pruned as a hedge. Other names for the burning bush are winged euonymus, winged wahoo, or winged spindle-tree. 
Take a closer look at the next one you see and you'll understand why. The small, corky, wing-like protrusions along the stems become obvious after the leaves have fallen, making it an interesting plant for the winter garden. Darn, now I'm wavering again. (Update -- the burning bush went, hence the Barberry added).

Saturday, October 10, 2015

Gnomes United

Okay, hands up. Who owns a garden gnome? Confess, now. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’ll confess. I have one. I call him Darth Spader, not that his name reflects any ambition to take up a shovel and help out. He prefers instead to hang out unobtrusively behind a shrub.

Gnomes have seen their popularity rise in recent years thanks largely to the Hobbit movies, but I don’t believe this has had any effect on the status of garden gnomes. Polls show they are somewhat less popular than stray cats in a garden, even though they cause far fewer problems. 

Some find garden gnomes cute while others find them repulsive. Why, the Royal Horticultural Society considers coloured figures of all kinds, whether gnomes, fairies or similar creatures, unacceptable at any shows. And the little folk have always been persona non grata at the venerable old Chelsea Flower Show.

Garden gnomes have a strong Teutonic background. The origin of gnomes hasn’t been as thoroughly researched as that of humans, but it does appear that the first clay garden gnome (der Gartenzwerg) was made in Graeferoda, Thuringia, Germany in the 1800's. While a first recorded appearance of a garden gnome in England was around 1840 at the estate of Sir Charles Isham, the 10th Baronet of Lamport Hall.

Not only are gnomes part of the landscape in Germany, for a while they were all the rage in Paris and became something of a status symbol in French gardens. Back in 2000, the chic Parc de Bagatelle in Paris displayed 2000 of the little guys throughout the world famous gardens, the very same gardens that a decade earlier displayed sculptures by Henry Moore.

Parisians flocked to the park to see the gnomes, and all was well until The Garden Gnome Liberation Front struck. After stealing 20 of the gnomes during a nighttime raid, the group issued a statement claiming responsibility and threatening to strike again unless the exhibit was closed and the remaining gnomes released. 

The communiqué further stated that the garden gnomes should not be ridiculed and should be released into their natural habitat (funny, I’d have thought that since they were garden gnomes, they were already in their natural habitat).

Unfortunately, gnome thieves are not only active in France. There have been many other instances of them going missing from gardens around the world, sometimes kidnapped with demands made for considerable ransom money. Even here in Waterloo gnome abductions have occurred.

I don’t know the details of the case, or whether the perpetrators were apprehended. I only happened to learn of it when I stopped by the annual police auction at the Waterloo detachment one Saturday morning a year or two back. The usual racks of bicycles were up for sale, along with household articles that had been lost or recovered, but over in the doorway of the police station, I discovered a group of garden gnomes. They were huddled together out of the wind, some of them ceramic, others concrete or plastic. Most were brightly coloured while a couple looked as though they’d been living rough. I assumed they were recovered after being stolen as a prank. A prank maybe, but heartbreaking to the owner.

For a moment, I felt an overwhelming urge to stick around and purchase the lot and take them home to share the garden with Darth, but I resisted. I really didn’t have room for them, and I somehow felt that Darth might not appreciate such a large invasion, solitary character that he is, so I left them to their fate, hoping they’d be adopted by a kindhearted gardener.

Whether you’re a fan of garden gnomes or not (George Harrison welcomed them into his garden and also included them on an album cover), they’re certainly controversial characters, and if they bring the good luck that they’re reputed to, then I’d say every garden needs one.

I should add that these are not real garden gnomes I’m referring to here. Besides sneaking into prestigious garden shows, genuine ones particularly love to attend Oktoberfest, all dressed up in their nifty gnome lederhosen. If you happen to discover one sleeping it off under the shrubbery in your back yard this week, ignore him. He’ll probably wander off after he wakes up. But if you can persuade him to rake leaves first, go right ahead.

Saturday, October 3, 2015

Orange Globes Again

It’s hard to avoid those large, orange globes — you know what I mean. What do they call them — pumpkins? Yes, it’s that time of year and they’re sprouting everywhere, even crowding out election signs. They’re also a big news story — that is the big ones are. It seems there’s a record broken every fall for size and weight.

Besides the challenges of transportation to the weighing arena, there’s clearly a lot more involved in competitive pumpkin growing than just scattering a few seeds in the garden. I have grown pumpkins on occasion, and it was exciting the time I had one climb into a tomato cage. When it bulked up it absorbed the whole cage and became a goofy Halloween display all on its own, a performance artist pumpkin tottering on its three spiky legs with wires growing through its head — sort of a man in the iron mask look.

Yet I'm not competitive enough to dive into record breaking attempts, and besides, I really don’t have the room. My suburban lot isn't large enough to grow something the size of a garden shed, although it does sound almost like a practical idea. Plant it in spring, stop feeding when it reaches the appropriate size, scoop out the inside, then cut in the doors and windows and voila —  an orange garden shed. Not large enough? — I could grow a fresh one each year.

Durability might be an issue though, given how regular pumpkins tend to implode over time if left too long on the porch. I imagine a shed sized one could become its own compost pile overnight, then there’s an awful mess to clean up. I think I’ll stick with regular sized pumpkins — or even miniatures ones. Why not? Down sizing happened with pet dogs. If they get any smaller, we’ll be keeping them in bird cages.

As it happens, I did grow miniature pumpkins this year and I’m pleased with the results. They’re not really pumpkins, but they sure look like pumpkins. They’re just as orange, just as creased, and what’s more, my one plant produced dozens. They’re actually a plant in the nightshade family — same as potatoes and tomatoes. In fact, they've been called mock tomato. They’re also called Ornamental Eggplant, pumpkin bush, and my favourite, pumpkin on a stick. Solanum Integrifolium is the botanical name and it’s native to South East Asia.

It’s cooked there in stir fry dishes, but I'm not planning to eat mine without a little more research, but I am happy to grow it as an interesting ornamental plant. It was easy to grow and could have reached over a meter high if I’d given it a sunnier spot. I bought it as a plant in spring, although it can be grown from seed. I thought it looked interesting and stuck it in an out of the way corner in part shade then forgot about it until I saw golf ball sized pumpkins growing. 

Despite a lack of attention, my plant managed to produce a few dozen fruit. They’ll look perfect in a fall display basket — one with gourds and stuff. Not my thing, really. I think I’ll carve them as Barbie sized ghouls — or Barbie sized garden sheds. 

Sunday, September 20, 2015

Get Your Mums, Kids

It’s impossible to avoid them. Chrysanthemums are ubiquitous to the point I try to avoid them. I don’t have a single one in my garden. It is a mum free zone, except for the better half. I don’t mind them, but I can view mums any time. One trip to the grocery store, two minutes staring at their glowing heads and I'm mummed out, but I’ll admit they do look a lot better than bags of softener salt. 

Don’t get me wrong; I've no objection to others buying these plants. In fact I encourage it. There’s nothing finer than a pair of simulated headlights at the head of every driveway. I guess my mild aversion to them matches the feelings I have towards poinsettias and Easter lilies. They’re all plants — kind of. That is they’re all grown in greenhouses, but that’s where the similarity ends. They barely qualify as house plants. They’re really just decorations with a half life of a few weeks; then they’re done.

Regardless, however nebulous the connection with gardening might be, I have a responsibility to provide advice on the care of mums. Here it is: Simply place them in a sunny spot — or shady, and water them regularly until it’s time to replace them with pumpkins.

If you’re beginning to get the feeling that it would be a better idea if they grew in your garden as fall blooming perennials, there is no reason this can’t be so, but not with the ones that you buy at the grocery store. Okay, maybe, just maybe, depending on the quality of the plant, the time of planting, and winter weather, it might just be possible to have one survive and flower again in your garden. I've done it, but the odds of success are slim. Alternatively you could try wintering the pot over in a cool, non-freezing location such as an insulated garage or porch. Cut back the foliage as it dies down then keep the soil barely moist until spring. If it survives and shows new growth, plant it out in the garden.

The reason fall mums don’t adapt to planting in the garden is they’re greenhouse grown. Sure, they can withstand frost, but they've been forced into bloom for the season. They don’t have good root systems and are often pot-bound. The flowering stage, which is the selling feature, occurs at the end of the growth period, not the beginning. The plant is confused. Under normal conditions in the garden, mums grow through summer, flower in September, then shut down for the winter. Stick it in the ground now and it won’t even consider rooting out as the ground is freezing up.

The answer is to plant mums in spring. They’re available at most garden centres but guess what — they’re often ignored because they don’t have flowers. Few people think about mums in spring, probably because they don’t look anything like the glorious monsters that are presently reigning over every front porch in the city.  

But buy and plant them in spring and you’ll have the pleasure of watching them grow. They won’t need much care — a sunny location in reasonable soil, regular watering, and they’ll grow well. For best blooming, they can be pinched or pruned back up until July to create a bushier plant with more blooms for fall. Mulch around the plant in late fall and they’ll be with you for years.  

Think of the anticipation as the plant sprouts new leaves in spring and those little buds begin to form. Imagine the pleasure when the first one opens. That’s gardening, not decorating.