Gnomes on the Loam

Okay, hands up. Who owns one? I have one. I call him Gneville. He hangs out on the shady side of the garden and he’s only visible for a few weeks in spring after the snow melts, then he vanishes into the foliage for summer. If I didn’t point him out, or introduce him, you wouldn’t know he was there. Gneville is a gnome, of course, a solid concrete gnome standing just short of knee height. I do talk to him occasionally, but he never answers.

I’m not fond of items in the garden that don’t grow, and Gneville sure doesn’t. However, garden gnomes might be on a revival after the Lord of the Rings movies. I don’t think gnomes were featured, but there were dwarves — close enough, I say, as they’re often confused.

Nevertheless, garden gnomes have always been popular, and since this area has strong cultural association with Germany, it’s important to remember that the first garden gnome (der Gartenzwerg) was made in Graeferoda, Thuringia, Germany in the early 1800's.

Gnomes were first described by Swiss alchemist Paracelsus during the Renaissance period as magical creatures who didn’t like to mix with humans. Whatever the origin, each country has a name for these mythical beings. In England, they’ve been referred to as Nains or Hobs. Hobs? Wait a minute. What does that make me?

Mythical or not, latter day garden gnomes have been on the move. They quickly spread throughout Europe, arriving in England in 1840 at the estate of Sir Charles Isham, the 10th Baronet of Lamport Hall where they acquired the gnome moniker. Only one of the original batch has survived. Nicknamed Lampy, he’s on display and insured for £1 million.

They certainly became popular in the UK. In fact, Ann Atkin, of West Putford in Devon had a world record collection of 2,042 friendly garden gnomes. Then after forty years of gnome collecting, Anne decided in 2021 to close her reserve. After a winter in storage, they are now on display again entertaining summer visitors at Merry Harriers Garden Centre in the village of Woolsery. With a name and address that could have come out of Tolkien’s Middle Earth, they must feel right at home.

In European mythology, gnomes are described as hard working and responsible, but this bunch can be seen snoozing, aimlessly riding farm animals, and indulging in all manner of activities, as gnomes do. There’s even a section for sporty ones called the Gnome Run. Like Lampy, the value has risen for rare garden gnomes and collectors will pay plenty, especially if they’re the old iron or terra-cotta versions.

As part of the landscape in Britain and Germany, rare ones are seen by some as a status symbol, then there are others who go for quantity over quality. A few years ago, I was driving through a village in England when I simply had to stop the car when I spotted a donsy, the collective term for gnomes. Before me was a front yard filled with more gnomes than plants, an impressive sight. And yet they’re not popular everywhere. They were banned from the gardens at the Chelsea Flower Show until the Royal Horticultural Society relented and allowed them for one year only in 2013. Even a pair of royal gnomes made an appearance.

Whether you are a fan of garden gnomes or not (George Harrison welcomed them into his garden and even 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.

Getting closer but not there yet

Imagine, lying in bed nice and cozy then suddenly the duvet is whipped off. That’s bad enough, but then the window is thrown wide open and an icy blast flash freezes your tender bits. If this is repeated enough times, those bits will fall off. This is exactly what happens to plants in the garden when the snow melts quickly, as it has this week.

Snow is an insulator, the deeper the better. It keeps plants in a comfortable state of dormancy. Even in winter, soil is giving off heat. Deep down, soil temperature is around 10 degrees or so, summer and winter. Where there’s a deep layer of snow acting as insulation, the surface temperature of the soil may be barely frozen. A study from the University of Delaware showed that for each centimetre of snow cover, the soil temperature will increase by roughly half a degree Celsius. 

Being suddenly exposed to icy blasts won’t bother tough plants, especially native ones, but any tender ones will suffer. And if the icy blasts don’t get them, the soggy soil will. The ground below may remain frozen, but nearer the surface it will be waterlogged. This happens in spring, but the ground soon thaws and normal drainage is resumed. When it happens in the middle of winter, that soggy ground refreezes. Repeat a few times and the expensive, borderline hardy perennial that you planted with care last spring will quietly succumb and no amount of coaxing will revive it. The same conditions can easily cause plants that aren’t well rooted to be heaved out of the ground, dead or alive.

I haven’t reached the point where I’m pushing wheelbarrows full of snow to the backyard to cover tender plants, but I have on occasion tossed a few extra shovelfuls over one or two. I usually mulch around the special ones in fall to help them resist the effect of winter thaws.

There are places in my backyard where the snow drifts deeper, and consequently, plants below are less prone to being prematurely exposed. The same occurs in sheltered areas, usually in shade and out of the wind. It’s worthwhile to note these places as they are in effect, micro-climates. A tender plant may require other specific considerations — soil type, sun or shade etc. — but it might just stand a better chance by being planted where it won’t be subjected to harsh conditions too early in the spring.

It’s also worth noting where the opposite occurs — areas in the garden where wind consistently whips snow away to expose the soil. This happens around the base of shrubs, posts, and against a fence, or building.

The snow is often scoured away along sides of buildings, depending on the prevailing wind, although the soil may be warmed by heat loss from the house, counteracting the effect of the wind. In fact, tender plants often survive well here. For instance, spring bulbs planted close to a sheltered, south facing wall will flower days or even weeks earlier than those in the middle of a garden.  Against a fence there’s no extra heat in the soil and though the fence may cause snow to drift deeply as you may see on a leeward flowerbed, the space closest to the fence is left exposed.

It may not be immediately obvious that a change in the weather is impacting the way a garden will look in summer, but it certainly does. Ahh, summer. Brrr — hang on to that the duvet. Winter isn’t over yet.

Poinsettias sure get around

It wouldn’t be Christmas without them, but I have a hard time deciding if they’re a plant or a Christmas decoration. It’s such a firmly entrenched tradition that I dare say most are purchased with the latter in mind. They’re available in colours and patterns to match any decor. That’s the poinsettia, of course, and the number produced is mind boggling. By Christmas, it’s unlikely anyone indoors in North America is more than a few steps from one.

It all began with a German immigrant to the U.S. in 1900. Although introduced to the country in 1828 by botanist and Ambassador to Mexico, Joel Roberts Poinsett, noted as the 'official discoverer’, it’s thanks to that German farmer, Albert Ecke and his descendants that you’re likely looking at one now.

Intrigued by the poinsettia, Albert began selling the plants at street stands in Los Angeles. His son Paul improved the plants giving them a bushier, more comely appearance, rather than the original weedy plant. It was then grandson Paul Ecke Junior’s turn to advance the association with Christmas.

He did this by sending free plants to television stations where they were displayed on air in the weeks from Thanksgiving to Christmas. He even appeared as a guest on the Tonight Show and on Bob Hope's Christmas specials to promote the plants. By the 1990s, the Ecke family held a virtual monopoly on production.

That changed when university researcher John Dole discovered the secret of how the family developed their unique poinsettias. After Dole published it, competitors began producing plants using low-cost labour in Latin America. The Ecke family business no longer grows poinsettias in the US, but still has a huge market share worldwide.

I don’t remember when I saw my first poinsettia, but it was here in Canada. As a Christmas plant they took off first in North America, but the rest of the world is catching up. Holly and mistletoe have been popular in Europe for centuries. Now, those traditional Christmas plants have been overtaken by the poinsettia. South Africa and Australia are catching up. In Australia, they’re also forced into bloom for Christmas. Given the climate there, they can be happily grown in the garden as well. Wouldn’t that be nice?

As a winter flower, it’s becoming popular in China, Japan, and South Korea where Christmas, at least the commercial aspect, has found a place. Despite different cultural traditions, it comes as a surprise to many travelers to cities in East Asian countries to discover Christmas trees on display in shopping malls, so it’s no wonder the poinsettia is appearing there as well.

In Turkey, much closer to the origin of Christmas, but with no connection, the poinsettia was being cultivated long before Europe was aware of it. It was simply an attractive winter plant that became popular because it was a favourite of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, first president of modern-day Turkey. Hence the poinsettia became known there as Atatürk's Flower, probably the only flower named after a politician, other than Joel Roberts Poinsett.

It can now be found growing wild in Turkey, where the climate, similar in places to Mexico, suits it. In fact, due to its proliferation as a houseplant around the world, where the climate does agree with it, there’s every chance poinsettia could become an invasive plant in the wild. Imagine a world in which there’s one in sight wherever you look — maybe not.

I confess I’m a reluctant admirer of the poinsettia, however, I was amazed the first time I ever saw one growing naturally outdoors. It was over two metres high, clambering up the side of a funeral parlour in Lahaina, Hawaii, and I thought it looked wonderful. Then again, it was January and the soft ocean breezes and ukulele music might have had some effect on my opinion.

Amaryllis -- or is it?

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?

 

Lotsa leaves -- indoors and out.

Leaves are falling in abundance, and not just outdoors. Chances are they’re clogging up the vacuum cleaner in the living room, too. When plants arrive indoors after returning from summer vacation on the deck, we shouldn’t be too surprised if they begin to shed a few leaves.

As days get shorter and light levels fall, it’s a signal to plants to slow down, even stop growing for the winter. Outdoors it happens slowly, but when a plant that spent the summer outdoors is suddenly dragged indoors where light levels are considerably lower, the plant is thinking winter, already? What happened to fall?

Between the shock and the panic it shuts down, stops growing and the leaves begin to fall. Leaves that weren’t healthy in the first place soon turn yellow and drop off. After a week or two the plant adjusts and rests awhile until late winter when it will begin to produce new growth.

Sometimes the plant owner panics as well, immediately reaching for the fertilizer in the mistaken belief the plant is starving to death, except force feeding a plant has the opposite effect. Instead of producing healthy leaves, guess what — they turn yellow. Fertilize only when there is active growth.

Yellowing leaves may be due to disease — bacterial, viral, fungal — and without a thorough examination by a Doctor House houseplant doctor, it can be hard to determine the cause. More than likely, if the plant was reasonably healthy outdoors, it’s less likely disease is the cause. More likely insect pests have hitched a ride indoors.

If left outdoors, most insects quickly succumb to frost, but when transported indoors they think they’re wintering in Florida, and since there’s usually a bit more action happening on a winter vacation, it only takes one pair of amorous bugs to begin producing offspring and soon enough they’re swarming over the plant, sucking the green life out of the leaves.

It’s not always obvious there are bugs on the plant as (a), they are frequently green, making them hard to see, or (b), they’re too small, making them hard to see, or (c) they’re green and small . . .

The usual suspects are aphids or spider mites — or both. The aphids tend to cluster around the stems and at the tips of new growth, if there is any. They are easy to see when clustered together, but by then they’ve already been reproducing like crazy, and worse still, aphids don’t need a mate to start a family.

The other pest, almost invisible to any one over fifty, is the spider mite. They love warm, dry homes, so conditions are perfect for them to start a new family. They can be found mainly on the underside of leaves and look like tiny reddish specks. Here’s where a magnifying glass helps considerably. Look closely and you’ll see that these tiny specks are moving about. They’re not true spiders; in fact, a real spider might keep them in check, but if one also happened to hitch a ride indoors, chances are it was flattened on sight by a half-crazed arachnophobe.

 When bringing plants in for the winter, it’s essential to check thoroughly for hitch hikers. Even then, they can be missed, so give the plants a good soaking with a 40-parts water to one-part natural soap solution — not detergent. Best place to do this is outside or in the sink for small plants, otherwise into the shower with them. Spray every part of the plant — over and under stems, leaves, branches and even the soil surface.

After about fifteen minutes, rinse off the soap. Repeat a week later to be sure you got all the beasts. Oh, and if you have other plants indoors, quarantine the newcomers or you’ll be needing the garden rake indoors.

A tale for Halloween