Poinsettia Panic

One hundred and seventy three already. That’s how many poinsettias I’ve encountered so far this Christmas season. I have my rules — these have to be live poinsettias and not in a store or greenhouse, unless the store is displaying the plant as part of a seasonal display.Here’s what I say: First remove the foil from around the pot or poke holes in the bottom otherwise excess water will rot the roots. Locate in a sunny window, but not against the glass. Maintain at a daytime temperature of 18 to 21C and if possible, move to a cooler place at night, but no cooler than 15C to avoid root rot. Avoid exposure to hot or cold drafts as these can cause premature leaf drop. Water well when the surface is dry to the touch. Finally, poinsettia is not poisonous, but I wouldn’t eat it. 175, 176,177 . . .


This all started because of my aversion to poinsettias; it was getting worse each year. Don’t believe me? — read previous columns where I’ve complained about the boring ubiquity of these plants, the sheer numbers, the environmental impact of all that wasted potting soil, the energy required to grow and transport them, and don’t even mention the plastic pots that end up at the dump. Grocery stores charging five cents for a plastic bag? I think they missed a huge opportunity here. I say supply your own pot.

Trouble was, I was beginning to be perceived as a Christmas Scrooge, a real grouch bent on spoiling the pleasure of others. I tried not to, but whereas I used to only frown and grumble, I was beginning to openly sneer at these — ahem — plants. Oops, there I go again. I’m sorry. I am trying. Hey, at least I call it the Christmas season and not “holiday” season.

Anyway, the answer was counselling sessions, where I came to realize that unless I was to become completely ostracized by society I would have to learn to like poinsettias. Clearly they’re not going to go away. It was suggested I turn it into a game or challenge and it’s helped considerably. I can now smile when I see a poinsettia, knowing that I’m further along on my quest to set a personal record.

It’s such fun, and it makes Christmas shopping much more pleasurable. I now enter stores full of hope that there’ll be a poinsettia on display — there always is. Naturally, my face lights up immediately, which has the effect of cheering up the frazzled sales assistant, thereby resulting in especially good service.

When I attend a Christmas function, I no longer get annoyed when a whacking great green and red object has been plonked in the middle of the table, completely obscuring my dinner partner, causing us to bob and weave like a couple of boxers as we try to have a conversation. Now I can hardly contain my enthusiasm. I even leave my table and explore the room, anxious to ensure I count them all.

I appear to be the most gregarious, happy person present as I visit other tables, smiling and chatting, saying things like lovely, great, or terrific, even though under my breath, I’m counting away. My obvious enthusiasm then gets me into numerous conversations about how to care for poinsettias.

No bedtime stories in this garden

It’s that time of year again when I keep hearing about bedtime for the garden. That is, putting the garden to bed.

It’s an old term from when that was the idea, that gardens should be put to bed for the winter. My gardens are already in bed, they never left it. What’s a flowerbed if not a bed for plants. Same with a bed in the vegetable garden, or a raised bed.

What the term meant was ripping out all the summer annuals, hacking down perennials and ornamental grasses, and the one thing that does symbolize bedtime, is wrapping evergreen shrubs in burlap blankets. Most of this is unnecessary. Rather than consider this time of year as the end of the season, a time to put things to bed, I prefer to think of it as an extra early spring because so much of what we do now has an impact on next year’s garden.

Certainly, we should take care of anything that would be damaged over winter. Bring all tropical plants and any houseplants indoors before they’re damaged by frost. Better still, do it a couple of weeks ago to avoid shocking them. Dig up and store any tender bulbs like begonias, calla and canna lilies, and dahlias. Turn off all outside faucets, empty rain barrels, and drain hoses. Any planters that could crack if frozen should be emptied and stored dry.

But as for the sleepy garden, there’s no reason to do anything much, and no reason to hack down plants. Perennials are much better left standing just as they do in nature. For instance, all those wild asters that are blooming now will return next year as though nothing happened. Tall plants collect snow which gives protection, the seed heads feed birds, and the hollow stems provide refuge to beneficial insects, plus, the old flowers can be surprisingly beautiful when topped with snow. Come spring these plants can be chopped, dropped, and left where they fall. The old stalks will slowly decompose, returning nutrients to the soil while new growth soon hides the remains. As for annuals, they don’t need wrenching out. Save yourself all that work. Squish them down in spring, and like the remains of perennials, they’ll eventually vanish into the soil.

Then there are all those leaves to deal with. You could make a huge pile as I do, rotting them down to use as mulch next summer. If they’re on the lawn, providing they’re not extra deep, run the lawn mower over them. Once shredded, they’ll break down fast and be gone by the time you’re ready to cut the grass in May. Leaves are simply free fertilizer and a valuable resource, crammed with nutrients that recycle naturally. No one rakes leaves in the bush, but plants still appear in spring. If they fall on flowerbeds, so much the better. We often say keep the crowns of perennials clear, but providing the layer of leaves isn’t dense, the plants usually manage to thrust their way through as they would in the wild. But should you bury them knee deep in packed leaves they will have a problem sprouting in spring.

One place you can pile the leaves is around and under shrubs, especially those that aren’t the hardiest. Butterfly bushes for instance, usually die back to the ground, but in a hard winter they don’t always recover. They’ll love any extra protection.

Shrubs that are hardy don’t need any help so there’s little point in wrapping them. If you’re challenging the zone with tender ones, then do wrap these in burlap, but tough old conifers shouldn’t need anything unless they’re subjected to salt spray.

Finally, it’s a good idea to clean and rub down garden tools with oil before winter, though I often feel it’s me that could use an oiling and a rub down after hard work in October, which is why my garden only gets a bedtime story.

Visitors are Welcome in my Garden

Build it and they will come, and did they ever, everything from a wild turkey to an opossum, and all kinds of creepers and flyers. Thirty-five years ago, my current garden was a typical suburban lawn. Lawns are perfect for kids to play on and dogs to run, and mine accommodated both at times, but it wasn’t long before the vegetable garden and a couple of flowerbeds went in. Those flowerbeds became a floral amoeba, bulging out, expanding and encircling the lawn until today there’s barely enough to keep a rabbit fed for a week. If they’d stick to the lawn, they’d be welcome.

I filled the flowerbeds with all manner of plants that thrived or died over the years as I experimented. I made my share of mistakes, planting things that behaved as though they owned the place. And then wildlife arrived that thought the same way.

I receive a lot of visitors, most of whom I welcome. I don’t much care for the slugs and snails, aphids, and mosquitos, but even they have a role to play, if only as a link in the food chain. I’ve had herons, groundhogs, raccoons, and recently an opossum that surprised me in the vegetable garden. I froze and it played dead until we both decided to go our separate ways.

Because my garden has never seen pesticides, I like to think all my critters are healthy. Only a few years ago it was the norm to spray everything that creeped or crawled without a thought to the importance of these creatures. However, most are beneficial in some way, as food for another or as a pollinator of plants. Some might not be so welcome, such as plant eating aphids, and yet even they’re food for ladybugs. The caterpillar or other insect that devours leaves is often a source of food for birds, especially when they’re also feeding bugs to their chicks. We might not like the less desirables, but without them we won’t have the ones we love to see, the colourful birds and butterflies.

My garden might be primarily for plants, but there’s a whole other world within it. There are hoards of essential creatures that dwell in the soil, at the bottom of the food chain that eventually links to us. It’s the bigger, visible ones that intrigue me. I often see something that is as interesting as the plants I grow. There are curious beetles that scurry beneath the leaf litter, unusual spiders, hoverflies, lacewings, butterflies, and some of the four hundred species of bees found in Ontario. All are feeding on plants and on each other, each one filling an important role in the ecosystem that is my garden.

My garden might be an oasis for me, but today I like to think it’s a haven for wildlife, too, and I’m happy with that. I might step out to inspect a flower only to discover a rare bug or an unusual bee or be startled by hummingbirds zooming in. Sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of something furry and remember that it’s probably keeping the slug and snail population under control. In the pond are three frogs that help, keeping an eye on the water beetles and dragonflies during the day before going out on night patrol.

With a greater knowledge of the importance of wildlife in all forms, especially the ones that inhabit a garden, gardeners are now taking a different approach by adding more native plants to support beneficial insects. With a wide range of plants, a water feature, and an acceptance of the essential creatures that occupy a garden it is possible to create a balance where one group keeps a nervous watch on the other groups, with neither getting the upper hand. Nature was designed this way, to be in a state of equilibrium.

Yes, build it and they will come, but I really wasn’t expecting that opossum.

Winter Sowing

I’m going to sow seeds outdoors, this week — really. If you’re imagining me pushing a snow shovel across the veggie garden to get to the soil, forget it. I won’t be in the garden as most of the process takes place indoors.

I’ll be winter sowing, and compared to growing seedlings indoors or under lights, it’s less finicky and costs almost nothing. Winter sowing produces tough, sturdy plants, unlike the weak-kneed specimens grown on a windowsill. You can start tomorrow or anytime over the next couple of months.

Most annuals and familiar perennials, and cool season vegetables can be winter sown, but you won’t have any luck with tender plants or exotic species. A good choice are plants that are referred to as hardy, or come with instructions to direct sow outside in fall or in early spring. These are plants that would normally cast their seed in fall, and then sprout up the moment conditions are right. Sure, many may be considered weeds in the garden, however in my garden they’re more likely to be popular garden plants that I grew the previous year. I look on these as free plants — or grandchildren.

When we grow plants indoors, some seeds come with instructions for special treatment that simulates what they typically experience in their normal outdoor environment. They have to be soaked for a time or scarified, that is, nicking or using sandpaper to wear down the hard husk. 

Others have to be given a spell in the freezer for the purpose of cold stratification. This freezing and thawing or cool dampness outdoors is what breaks down the tough husk of the seed, allowing it to germinate. To reproduce the same process indoors can be tedious and not always reliable.  Winter sowing takes care of this naturally.

You’ll be pleased to hear there’s no need to go tramping through the snow, but simply plant seeds in jugs and set them on the deck or patio. All you need are a few clear or opaque containers, soil and seeds. Gallon jugs are perfect, and all those windshield washer jugs are fine, just rinse well. Some gardeners use two litre water bottles. I really like the large water dispenser bottles.

First, drill or cut a few small holes in the bottom of the container. This is to allow excess water to drain but not so large that the soil could fall out. If the container has only a very narrow opening, make a couple of extra holes or cuts near the top to allow for air circulation. Next step is to slice open the container about two thirds up on three sides, leaving one side (or a small section if the container is round) to act as a hinge.

Now place soil in the container. Garden soil is fine, but you don’t want to be out digging in the garden at the moment. Most any potting soil will do. Moisten the soil then sow your seed. Cover them as per packet instructions, or if unsure, about the same as the diameter of the seed. Close up the container and tape it shut along the sides but leave the screw cap off. Now all you have to do is set them outdoors.

If snow buries them, don’t worry. A little snow will fall in and that’s okay too, however, check occasionally to be sure the soil hasn’t dried out or become waterlogged. If the weather is especially warm in early spring, remove the tape and open the containers for a while during the day. As the seeds sprout in early spring, you can open them up and leave them open. When the seedlings are large enough they can be planted in the garden.

There, you’re almost gardening already. What a great start to the new year.

A Very Prickly Christmas

Maybe it was the six poinsettias I had to stare at for two hours and thirty-three minutes while sitting in a greasy waiting room as my car had its annual oil change, or the Vegas style Christmas lights that can now be seen from space. This must be why I've been feeling nostalgic for a time when decorating for the season was a simpler, heartwarming experience.

Every year at this time, when I was a little sprout, my dad would take us holly gathering. It was such an exciting event, gathering berry laden sprigs to brighten the house at Christmas. Of course, in those days we were blithely ignorant of the times ahead when Christmas decorating would be raised to a unique art form with plastic penguins, inflatable Santas, and flashing flamingos.

Each December we’d make the trek to our secret wood where the holly trees grew, hoping to discover a bounty of berries. We weren’t always lucky; some years there would be a good crop, with lush clumps clinging to each twig on the tree, while other years there would be hardly a speck of red to be seen. My dad always blamed the berry vultures — I don’t know if he meant birds or the people who’d been there before us.

Even in the best of years, only half the trees would bear any berries at all. Having only a limited understanding of procreation, we didn’t realize that only the female holly bears berries while, as usual, the male hangs around taking up useful space. Now that I’m older and wiser, I realize the lack of berries was likely due to SOMEONE not in the mood.

Nonetheless, collecting was never easy. Holly has wicked prickles, and you could be sure the best sprigs were always at the top of the tree, at the outer limits, barely within reach. Since we had no concept of a limb lopper, someone had to climb the tree.

“Go ahead, Dad,” I’d say, after yet another prickly plunge from the tree, “Show me one more time. Maybe next year I’ll be able to do it.” In this way the ancient tradition of holly gathering was slowly passed down through our family.

Yes, holly gathering was a challenge, but it was worth the struggle. At Christmas, friends and family would visit our home simply to admire our lovely sprig of holly, burdened with two, maybe three berries. Meanwhile, Mum would serve mince pies and Dad would lie on the couch, groaning, band-aids stuck to his face, a mustard plaster taped to his back.

Ah, yes, the good old days. I often wonder what Dad would have thought of inflatable Santas.