Starting Seeds

For seed starting, keep it clean and simple. When looking for a suitable medium, first, to clarify, there’s potting soil, and potting mix, and the terms are used interchangeably and not always accurately. Those brightly coloured plastic bags with bragging labels can be confusing. The difference is potting soil contains soil, often only a little, sometimes a lot. It’s more suitable for use outdoors. There are, however, mixes specifically formulated for seed starting.

Peat Moss

 Most products on the shelf are potting mixes, sometimes referred to as soil-free. They can contain any number of ingredients, with the usual claims for best results, but the ingredients aren’t always on the label. They can contain coco coir, wood fibers, peat moss, vermiculite, clay, pumice, or perlite. 

All have their uses, but not all are essential for starting seeds. Seedling grow best in a lightweight medium that provides a balance between moisture and air. Most potting mixes are made up of finely shredded peat moss. Perlite is usually added to improve drainage, and it also helps retain moisture. Perlite is a naturally occurring siliceous volcanic rock that after processing looks like tiny bits of popcorn.

Perlite

Cheaper, no-name brands might even contain tiny beads of polystyrene as a perlite substitute (in my darker moments, I’ve often thought potting mixes would be a handy way to dispose of industrial waste). Some mixes also contain vermiculite, a spongy, gold coloured volcanic mineral added to help retain moisture.

 

Vermiculite

Lime might be added to neutralize the slightly acidic peat moss, and other ingredients may include wetting agents to promote absorption of moisture, slow-release fertilizers, and charcoal, which is a natural filter that absorbs decaying plant odours. The problem with added fertilizer is you have no control over the amount, and since we all use our preferred fertilizers as well, there’s a danger of over-fertilizing. I prefer to be in control.

For seed starting, keep it clean and simple, and I'd avoid the $1.99 bags from that other store.

It’s a Numbers Game

Fertilizer is confusing, and no wonder. Shelves are stacked with more types of fertilizer than supplements in a health food store. All are in brightly coloured packaging adorned with pictures of gorgeous flowering plants and unblemished vegetables. 

There are fertilizers for tomatoes, ones for roses, another for perennials and so on. All you need to do is match the plant to the fertilizer, right? It couldn’t be easier, except if you grow roses, tomatoes, and dozens of other types of plants, you’ll soon have a full shopping cart. The truth is, you could get by with only one type of commercial fertilizer, or even none if it’s for the garden. By using compost and mulch there, you’d still be fertilizing, but as nature does it.

You’ll note packages of fertilizer always have three numbers. These represent the three main nutrients plants require — nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium, noted as N-P-K. If the K is throwing you off, that’s because it comes from the scientific term, kalium. These numbers indicate the percentages of each element in the package or bottle. 10-15-10 means it contains 10% nitrogen, 15% phosphorus, and 10% potassium.

You might be wondering why there are so many different proportions listed, and why manufactures can’t agree on those proportions. Next time you’re shopping for fertilizer, ignore the glossy images that were shot in a studio and compare those numbers.

You’ll immediately see they differ from brand to brand even though they’re specified for the same type of plant. I’ve seen brands of fertilizer formulated for tomatoes with the numbers 6-12-12, 4-6-8, 8-24-8, and 18-18-21. No wonder the consumer is confused.

Now you might be wondering how they came up with the numbers in the first place. When plants were first analyzed, it was found they contained different proportions of these three nutrients. It was then assumed that each type of plant required fertilizer in the same proportion, except plants don’t use nutrients the same way at the same time as they’re growing. They take up what they need from the soil when they need it.

It’s much like going to the grocery store when you’re out of milk, butter, or eggs. You buy what you need rather than stuffing the refrigerator. A balanced fertilizer, that is one with equal percentages, say 5-5-5 or 10-10-10, is fine in most situations, but by juggling the numbers manufacturers were able to make their products appear unique. And that’s when marketing with numbers began. But do you really need all that fertilizer? If you’re growing in pots and planters, indoors or out, yes you will need it, as most soil-less mediums have little or no nutrients, unlike real soil.

In the garden it’s a different matter. Remember that middle number, the one representing the phosphorus percentage? The soil in this area began with a limestone base, and as it degraded over time we were left with plenty of phosphorous in the soil. Garden soil doesn’t need any extra. In fact, so much has been added waterways are being polluted by it. 

As for the last number representing potassium, it’s only likely to be deficient in light, sandy soils, not in the typical clay soils we have in our gardens. This leaves nitrogen, the first of the trio. Nitrogen does not stick around in soil, which is why we’re forever fertilizing lawns. By adding compost and mulch, nitrogen and other nutrients are returned to the soil as the organic material is broken down.

Bottom line: If your plants are growing poorly, fertilizer is rarely the solution, and too much can be deadly.Your pots and planters will need it, so use the fertilizer of your choice, ideally, one with a ratio corresponding to 3-1-2 (24-8-16 or 12-4-8, for instance). Also look for additional micro-nutrients that are usually found in the fine print of contents.

Finally, do heed the directions. Like soap powder in the washing machine, more is not better. 

How to Motivate Your Plants

Ever talk to your plants? I chat with the schefflera in the corner of my living room occasionally, but outdoors I restrict myself to walking around muttering. Naturally, I swear at weeds, but who doesn't? And I do try to keep it down because the neighbours are a little sensitive.

Now Edgar, the fellow next door, is serious about this plant communication as he calls it. It all began on a winter evening a couple of years back. He was up late nursing a sick philodendron (and I suspect a large scotch). Said he'd been chatting to the plant a bit — swears it helps.

He eventually fell asleep, as he usually does. When he awoke, it was around 2 a.m. and the TV was still playing. He was in a kind of middle of the night stupor, trying to decide whether to go to bed or finish the night on the couch, when the show on TV caught his attention. It was one of those self-improvement programs. The host was a motivational speaker, babbling on about positive thinking and how to motivate growth.

When Edgar heard the words “motivating growth,” he perked up. He poured himself another drink while he thought about what the fellah was saying. It made a lot of sense. Edgar didn't particularly want to become a motivational speaker, but it occurred to him that if the techniques being described could motivate people to grow, they might work on other things — like plants.

Well, thanks to the guy on TV, the scotch, and the philodendron coming out of intensive care, Edgar became a believer — and a few hundred dollars poorer. He whipped out his credit card, grabbed the phone and ordered the whole package of books, tapes, and videos. Everything he'd need to change the world, or at least his small part of it.

Edgar spent the rest of the winter practicing. He practiced and practiced until he knew everything possible about motivational speaking, body language, vocal techniques, and eye contact — everything he'd need to rouse an audience to action.

He practiced on his dog (ignored him), he practiced on his teenage boys (hopeless failure), and he practiced on the mailman (junk mail increased). He even tried motivating his wife (I understand she went to stay with her sister for a while). But when he practiced on the philodendron — success. Surprisingly, it flourished.

By spring, Edgar was ready. I watched as each morning at dawn he went down into his vegetable garden to give the young plants the full benefit of his new skills. Edgar had a captive audience. He flipped over an old half-barrel planter to use as a podium and put on an amazing performance, just like the fellah on TV.

He'd jump off the barrel and run out into his audience. Next, he was on his knees, beseeching them like a TV preacher. Up and down the rows he went, cajoling, encouraging, cheering them on, making eye contact with every single plant — and of course, motivating: "Yes, you can do it carrots, just a little longer! Come on sprouts, sprout! Beans, be all you can be!"  Talk about flowery speech! And yet it was a success.

Of course, just like any other seminar, those paying the most attention gained the most benefit. Judging by the state of his lawn, the weeds must have been hanging on his every word. But Edgar swears it was a success. I'm not so sure. I was surprised how well the cabbages did, and they might have grown bigger if he'd been able to keep it up all summer, but by June the neighbours were being difficult again — they called the cops.

 Edgar is still practising his oratorical skills — they don't seem to help much; he still has trouble getting served in the coffee shop. He's still watching late night TV too. He tells me there's this woman with a Chia pet that she stands inside a pyramid surrounded with rare crystals — swears she gets three crops a week. It seems expensive though. I think I'll stick to spreading it on real thick — compost, that is.

You probably don’t need to know this

Here’s a little trivia to share, however, it might only elicit a few murmurs of huh, okay, or how about that — if you’re lucky. The only occasion when it might be worth repeating is when a conversation has stalled and is almost beyond recovery. It might help if there’s an amaryllis handy, preferably in bloom, or at least sprouting leaves.

It’s then you could pipe up and say, "Although we might call them amaryllis, the correct name is Hippeastrum, a genus of plants from South America.” Right, you needn’t have bothered because few give a hoot about the botanical nomenclature of plants. Botanists do, although they don’t always agree. They long debated whether the ones we know and love belong in the genus Hippeastrum, a group of plants native to South America, or should they be classed as Amaryllis belladonna, a plant from southern Africa?

The argument went on until 1987 when the 14th International Botanical Congress decided our seasonal houseplant was indeed from the genus Hippeastrum. Fortunately, they agreed amaryllis would be a “conserved name”, meaning it was okay to continue calling it what we always have done.

Regardless, these plants that brighten our homes as days shorten are all the result of hybridisation of Hippeastrum species from Central and South America. They’re selected and bred for flower size and ease of forcing in a gorgeous range of colours that continues to expand.

As for Amaryllis belladonna, the one that caused all the confusion, it’s a plant that you’d more likely see growing outdoors. In more temperate regions around the world, it’s become naturalized. One of the common names for it is naked ladies, so named, not after the band, but because the flowers bloom before the leaves appear, like the fall crocus. It could be grown in our gardens as a summer flowering bulb, that is if you can find it.

I’m afraid my suggestion of a garden plant that you can’t easily buy is about as useful as the bit of trivia, so back to our good old amaryllis. You might be unloading one with the groceries right now as they’re currently being sold everywhere. If you also bought a monster garlic or some kind of exotic root vegetable, make sure it’s the amaryllis that goes in a flowerpot, not the soup pot because it is somewhat toxic to humans, but only if you eat a lot. Dogs and cats, however, can become quite ill if they were to chew on a bulb or eat the leaves.

Now that I’ve sorted out the plant that no one was confused about until I brought it up, here’s how to care for it. Some come ready planted with complete instructions, but if you’re starting out with a bare (don’t mention naked) bulb, choose a pot that is slightly larger than the bulb, preferably a heavier one to avoid tipping.

Don't bury the bulb completely in the pot, just two thirds to three quarters deep leaving the shoulders exposed. A specific potting soil isn’t necessary. Place in a warm, sunny location and water sparingly at first as too much can cause rotting. Gradually water more as the leaves and flower bud appear and fertilize every couple of weeks. To prolong blooming, move it to a still bright but slightly cooler location.

Pinch off the blooms as they fade but keep the leaves growing for as long as possible to replenish the bulb. To get it to flower again next winter, sink the pot in the ground outdoors in spring. Cut off the foliage after it dies back, then leave it be until September.

Repot in fresh soil, bring it indoors, repeat the process as above and you can look forward to it blooming a second time — how about that, huh?

Creepy plants for Halloween

Call that scary, kid, you with the blood drenched costume and your buddy with the axe? I have far scarier things in my garden. You wouldn’t get out of my backyard alive after chomping on some of the plants I grow, and my shed is fully equipped with zombie fighting weapons. Gone are the delightfully fragrant flowers. It’s a plant cemetery now, filled with their decomposing remains.

The garden is now at that stage of annual decay, but it’s still a fascinating place and I have no fears of anything residing there. As for corpses, I do have one plant that does smell like something rotting, and I don’t mean from normal decomposition. It’s alive and flowering, and looking quite healthy. It’s a carrion plant, one of those unusual creations in nature that emit the, should I say fragrance, of rotting flesh.

You may be thinking of the famous ones that make headlines every time they flower, usually in a conservatory at a botanical garden where they’re typically grown. That’s the titan arum, or Amorphophallus titanium, also known as the corpse plant, and mistakenly described as the worlds largest flower. It’s certainly a huge plant. The current record of one in captivity is 3.2 metres. It reached that height in the Botanical Gardens Bonn, Germany in May 2013. The titan arum grows from a corm, and one set a record at the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh weighing in at a remarkable 153.9 kg (339 lb). As for being the largest flower, well it does produce the largest bloom in the world, except it isn’t a single flower, but an inflorescence, that is a cluster of hundreds of tiny flowers.

The real champion in flower size is Rafflesia arnoldii, a strange plant that grows only in the rainforests of Sumatra and Borneo, where this brown speckled plant that looks a little like a fungus pokes up from forest floor to bloom for only a few days. It has no visible parts other than a single flower that can be as much as a meter across.

What all these plants have in common is the odour they produce to attract insects to carry out pollination, and because of that they’re known as carrion or corpse flowers. Amorphophallus konjac, or voodoo lily, is another one, and it’s quite a stinker. I made the mistake of growing one as a houseplant and to the dismay of the rest of the family it flowered while I was away. I returned to find it in the garage beside the garbage can. I still have a couple in the garden that are hardy enough to survive there. Fortunately, they can’t compete with all the sweeter smelling flowers.

My most recent experience with a carrion plan was this summer when a friend offered me a small Stapelia variegata, a houseplant also known as starfish cactus. I wasn’t familiar with it and left it outdoors until the beginning of this month when I moved it indoors where it surprised me by producing buds. I was so excited until it flowered, then the smell. Being a small plant, it wasn’t that noticeable from a few feet away, but up close it’s a nose wrinkler. I quickly moved it back outdoors before anyone else noticed — I didn’t want to find another plant beside the garbage again.

Despite the odour (it isn’t that bad) it is a fascinating plant. It’s a succulent, a plant that stores moisture in its leaves, but it’s not a cactus, despite looking similar. The flowers are flattened slightly like a starfish, and the ones on mine are speckled brown, although there are other cultivars in other colours. It’s a plant from southern Africa, and although the odour isn’t strong, I can’t imagine what it would be like to stumble into a huge patch growing on the veldt.

Too bad the timing is off. It would have been the perfect plant to set on the porch with the pumpkin. It might not scare anyone, but it would sure put them off the candy.