PUSHING POTS

     For Fitzgeralds Gardening, November is when container change-outs for winter swing into high gear. Tim and I refill between 60 and 70 pots and windowboxes for about ten clients, and another seven to ten at our own house. Since practice makes perfect, we’ve gotten quite good at it over the years. Want to know some of our secrets?

     Well, you could check out Carolina Gardener’s November/December issue, where the lead article (that I wrote) covers the subject as thoroughly as possible in 800 words. Because my first attempt at adding links went so well, I’ve added one for Carolina Gardener. Hard copies may be found at independent booksellers in North and South Carolina, Virginia and Georgia, and at garden centers in those areas.

     OR, you could keep reading here, where I recapitulate and enlarge upon the subject.

First Things First

      As is usual in the gardening world, a few details need to be sorted before we get to plant choices.

  

     When deciding where to place winter containers, consider things like sun, wind, and water. Potted plants’ roots lack the protection being in the ground provides, so they suffer more from temperature extremes, desiccating winds, and dry soil. Brick and stone walls (especially light-colored ones) that face west or south retain more of the heat of the day than dark-colored vinyl, wood and hardy-plank. Know what direction the prevailing wind comes from, how it crosses your property, and what obstacles—trees, hedges, other structures—affect it. Make sure the pots have water, although not as much as during the summer. Are they likely to benefit from rainfall? It’s best to test the dirt with your finger for moisture: just like indoor houseplants, many outdoor cold-weather containers drown. (Trust me on this: I’m an expert at killing houseplants.)

     Next, choose your container well. In general, anything that drains readily and can stand up to your weather works fine. Be aware that plastic and unglazed terra cotta pots may crack and flake. Glazed ceramic, fiberglass, and cocomat-lined wrought iron hayracks and baskets fare better.

     Here in the mild-wintered Southeast, if you want to use clay pots outside during the winter, keep the following considerations in mind.

• Glazed ceramics hold up better than unglazed terra-cotta. Why? Pots crack because of freeze-thaw cycles: glazes keep moisture from permeating the clay, making it less susceptible to expansions and contractions.
• Not all pottery is created equal. Italian, Portuguese, Vietnamese and Malaysian clays form strong molecular bonds that fire smooth. On the other hand, Mexican clay has proportionately more sand, resulting in finished pieces with that lovely grainy texture. This is not a problem in Mexico or the dry American Southwest, but for the rest of us, winter can cause Mexican pots to crumble.

     One last thing: the primary secret to drop-dead-gorgeous pots at any season is to cram the plants in. While exact numbers depend on individual plants’ shoot and root vigor, plan for:

·         15 3- to 4-inch pots, or 5 six-packs per 14" diameter pot;

·         18 3- to 4-inch pots, or 6 six-packs per 16" diameter pot;

·         18 3- to 4-inch pots, or 6 six-packs per 30" long by 6" wide hayrack;

·         21 3- to 4-inch pots, or 7 six-packs per 36" long and 6" wide hayrack;

·         24 3- to 4-inch pots, or 8 six-packs per 42" long and 6" wide hayrack.
 

Mixed violas and
'Snow Princess' alyssum spill
out of a 36" hayrack


 A one-gallon pot equals 4 3- to 4-inch pots, or 1½ six-packs, by the way.

Annuals are very forgiving of crowding, since their only reason for being is to set seed for next year. Perennials require more root-room, especially if you plan to put them in the ground after their stint in a container.  

Freeze-hardy Flowers

      Now we can talk plants. Pansies and their relatives (Viola x wittrockiana) serve as anchors for many cold-weather containers in mild-winter areas. The small-flowered violas like the Penny, Sorbet and Endurio series and the cheerful Johnny-jump-ups (V. tricolor) bloom more profusely than their larger and blowsier cousins, the pansies. As an added bonus, violas never require deadheading. Unfortunately, all members of the viola family are deer candy.

     Other cold-hardy (to about 20°F) reliables include:

'Endurio Violet' &  'Penny Orange' violas
and 'Easter Basket' alyssum
looked so good all season
the neighbor asked if they were fake

•  Alyssum (Lobularia maritima)—alas, the floriferous new hybrid ‘Snow Princess’ crashed here after several nights at or near 20°F. It survived a shearing to rebloom when the temperatures moderate;
• Snapdragons (Antirrhinum majus)—although blooming stops after the first hard frost, they bracket the season with carnival colors and provide height and a green backdrop for violas;
• Perennial pinks (Dianthus barbatus) flaunt their red, pink, white and bicolor blooms through all but the coldest months. 

As it happens, not that many flowering plants fill the bill for winter containers, but don’t give up yet—we’ve just scratched the surface of possibilities.

Don’t Forget Foliage

     Incorporating evergreen plants with interesting or colorful foliage makes up for gaps in flowering. You might want to try:

·        Ornamental cabbages, kales and chards (Brassica spp. cvv.)—winter foliage stalwarts;

·        Low-growing bugleweed (Ajuga reptans cvv.) forms dense mats in variegated, chocolate, or purple-ish shades, like ‘Caitlin’s Giant’ and ‘Burgundy Glow’;

·        Trailing green-and-silver dead-nettle (Lamium maculatum cvv.) produces pink, white or purple flowers in late winter;

·        Curly-leaved parsley (Petroselinum crispum) adds bright green—and edible!—accents;

·        Dainty variegated lemon or silver thyme (Thymus x citriodorus) and mother-of–thyme (T. vulgaris) provide fine-textured underplantings for upright plants;

·        Dense plantings of dark green or variegated English ivies (Hedera helix) replace those crunchy Boston ferns hanging on your porch;

·        Small ornamental grasses—golden sweet flag (Acorus gramineus ‘Ogon’), thin-bladed sedges (Carex buchananii, C. comans ‘Frosted Curls,’ C. flagellifera ‘Toffee Twist’), breeze grass (Lomandra longifolia), and rushes (Juncus effusus ‘Wild Rumpus’ or ‘Will Fleming’— provide strong verticals; 

·         Hens-and-chicks (Sempervivum tectorum) cultivars come in a range of tints, all cold-hardy to Zone 3, which includes northern Minnesota and all of Maine.

Except for the brassicas, none of these selections ranks high on Bambi’s forage list.

Super Shrubs

      One- and three-gallon upright shrubs make strong design anchors, either alone or with other plants. Broadleaf choices include camellia (C. japonica, C. sasanqua), dwarf nandinas (N. domestica ‘Firepower’ or ‘Moonbay’), boxwood (Buxus sempervirens or B. microphylla var. koreana) and little-leaved hollies (Ilex crenata ‘Soft Touch,’ Ilex vomitoria ‘Bordeaux’ or ‘Schillings Dwarf’). Conifers like dwarf Alberta or Colorado blue spruce (Picea glauca var. albertiana, P. pungens f. glauca), juniper (Juniperus spp.), arborvitae (Thuja occidentalis) or false cypress (Chamaecyparis spp.) work well as container focal points. Combining several different small conifers in one container makes an attractive and deer-resistant dish garden.

Harbingers of Spring

     Layering small bulbs into winter containers gives a late-winter color burst that also heralds spring. Tuck in 20 to 30 early small daffodils (Narcissus obvallaris, ‘Quail,’ ‘Tête-à-Tête,’ ‘Canaliculatus’); crocuses (C. tommasinianus are least attractive to squirrels); snowdrops (Galanthus elwesii, G. nivalis); and/or crested iris (Iris cristata). Where winters are colder than the coast’s, add squill (Scilla sibirica) and grape hyacinth (Muscari spp.) to the list.          



The plantless holiday planter



It Doesn’t Have to Be a Plant 

  
       But who ever said you have to use plants? Decorate your containers for the holidays with big red bows, clusters of ornaments and garland, but don’t let your imagination stop there. Pine cones, either spray-painted or au naturel, look great all winter erupting out of a pot. Fill windowboxes with Christmas-tree balls of every color and size to carry through to spring (look for ornaments labeled for outdoor use: the colors on the indoor ones chip off after a couple of months). Dried ornamental grass plumes, corkscrew willow twigs, or sprays of berries—real or artificial—bound into sheaves with bright ribbons add height and drama.

           

Sometimes a Pot Is Just a Pot

     To me, one of the most striking aspect of winter is its unclutteredness. In the same way we find beauty in leafless tree limbs, pretty pots standing empty gracefully echo winter’s simplicity.

A winter container vignette



     Thanks for dropping in. Keep warm.

                                                                            Kathy 



 P.S.--If you're reading this from New Zealand, would you log a comment to tell me where you're from? I seriously considered emigrating years ago, but was already over 40, and 'way too poor, worse luck. But I loved your country, particularly Ahipara and Te Anau, Dunedin and that mountain on the west coast of the North Island whose name escapes me at the moment.

 

BRINGING IN THE PLANTS

            Daylight Savings Time ended this morning in the wee hours. It’s one of my favorite days of the year, when Congress declares we can go back to telling time by the sun. 



            I can’t wear a watch. Well, that’s not strictly true: I can, in fact, wear a watch. It just doesn’t keep correct time for long. Something about my body’s electrical current stops batteries dead. Be that as it may, over the years I’ve developed a certain talent for accurately guesstimating the hour by the height of the sun and the length of shadows. DST just gums up the works by adding another step. Besides, my circadian rhythms are hard-wired to standard time. “Springing ahead” in March—it’s in March now!—causes a week or so of very cranky Kathy.



Solanum pseudocapsicum 'Variegatum'



            But now all’s right with the world because the sun is where it’s supposed to be when it’s supposed to be there.

Fall always reminds me of my sad and tortured history with houseplants. My green thumb, such as it is, turns black as soon as a plant crosses the portal from outside to in. No, really: I’ve killed pothos. I’ve killed spider plants and coleus and crotons and goldfish plants. Formerly healthy ivies and Persian violets erupt with spider mites. Dracenas droop. Swedish ivy sulks. Green caterpillars magically appear to defoliate geraniums and poop all over my piano. In 1999, I wiped out Tim’s entire collection of 20-some floriferous, velvet-foliaged African violets in four months. Even philodendrons don’t stand a chance in Kathy’s Kitchen of Flora Horror. Some years, the only non-human-or-feline beings to survive a winter in our house are the fungus gnats.

            It’s a gift, I guess.

As usual, I waited until the last minute to bring in the tender plants I’ve slated for overwintering. Alas, the local weather-guy issued a freeze warning for tonight. Yeah, like those people know what they’re talking about. Nonetheless, the annual rushed rescue began.

Cordyline terminalis 'Sunset'

            Plants find spending a winter chez Fitzgerald a dodgy proposition, for several reasons. First and foremost, there’s that history thing.


            It doesn’t help that our little house has no windows on either north or south sides. I count this as a blessing most of the year: only six windows and five mini-blinds to clean (once every other year or two, whether they need it or not). We never worry about airborne pine-cones or other missiles blowing in during hurricanes. But when winter rolls around, the lack of useable sills with bright-but-indirect sunlight looms large. Both our bedroom (east-facing) and Tim’s studio/office (west-facing) would be perfect IF a modicum of cat discipline had been instilled while there was still time. Too late now: the east-facing kitchen and the west-facing living room are the default positions.



            Naturally, neither room wins Winter Houseplant Environment of the Year awards. The kitchen’s faux French door opens onto the screened porch, meaning the light is brightest between sunrise and nine a.m. Our otherwise-useless front porch shades the living room’s double window except for a few hours before sunset. The spots where plants can go without being in the way are all directly under heating vents.

            To give you an idea of the reality of the situation, the average life-span of my Christmas poinsettia is less than three weeks. 

            Nonetheless, I’m nothing if not optimistic (Tim says “stubborn”). And I have had a couple of odds-busting, logic-defying successes.

  



Ledebouria cooperii



After spending a pleasant seven months on the shady side of the back deck, my spindly Cordyline terminalis ‘Sunset’ (above) now sits in a corner of the kitchen (beneath a vent, of course). This is her third winter inside. Ledebouria cooperii, a bulbous grass-like plant with dark green blades and attractive longitudinal red pinstripes (at left), has survived my cold-weather ministrations for four years, last season even managing to retain a good percentage of her leaves. And a variegated ribbon dracaena that the cats nearly grazed to death last winter recovered enough over the summer to tempt fate again. These three hardies will probably make it through to next April.



             Solanum pseudocapsicum ‘Variegata’ (picture at the top of the post) spent the past five winters on the screened porch. This year, because she’s been extraordinarily beautiful all season, I brought her into to the kitchen. If she defoliates, she’s out. She’s sheltered from the draft out of the vent by the cordyline (see picture), who might also provide quiet encouragement.

  

Hemigraphis alternata
'Blackberry Waffle'



            My friend Christine gave me a pair of papaya plants for the garden back in April. They did better than most of the commoner edibles in the vegetable patch, by which I mean they stayed green and healthy-looking. When I saw Christine a few weeks ago, she told me to bring them in for the winter. So today I pulled them out, potted them and moved them into the house. They’re too big for the kitchen or living room: one ended up in the studio/office, the other in the bedroom. Now we’ll find out if cats eat papaya leaves.

 



Mystery plant # 1

            Continuing the tropical trend, the sprouted mango seed I retrieved from the compost pile a month ago is now ensconced on the piano in its own little pot. Joining it are a Hemigraphis alternata ‘Blackberry Waffle’—a majorly cool-looking foliage plant with puckered, blacky-purple leaves, and a mystery volunteer that made itself at home in one of my petunia pots. It’s got small, bell-shaped palest-yellow flowers with green stamens and light green puffy seed pods with burgundy ribs. I usually feel pretty cocky the day I bring my victims in from the cold, so I dug her up, tucked her into a pot and plopped her on the piano. (There's a picture below: if anyone knows what this plant is, please let me in on the secret.)

 

            So that’s nine plants in the house this winter. Keep a good thought for them, and I’ll keep you posted on the attrition rate.

            Thanks for dropping in. Questions and comments always welcome. Y’all come again.

                                                                                          Kathy

MY BLOG AND WELCOME TO IT

     Okay, here we go. I'm not entirely comfortable with this format, given my Luddite proclivities, but have run up against one of the immutable laws of publishing physics; i.e., lack of space equals smaller word counts. My regular gig as gardening columnist for the St. James Plantation newsletter, CatTales (Southport, NC) has become frustrating for a chatty writer like me. It's really hard be informative and amusing in 500 words. So my ever-resourceful husband, Tim, said, "Why not start a blog to take up the slack?"
     Naturally, I dismissed the idea out of hand... for about ten minutes. Tim walked me through the basics (12 times) until I understood, sort of. And here we are.
     (A friend of ours once had a t-shirt that said "My next husband will be normal." Tim's dream-shirt would read: "My next wife will be computer-literate.")
     Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk trees. (For those to who have no access to CatTales, the first two parts of my article about tree-planting follow in green text. Subsequent posts won't be so long. Promise.)
     From November 2010: Because fall is such a good time to plant them, let’s talk trees.

     Trees sequester carbon dioxide emissions produced by our oil-dependent lifestyles. Newly planted trees replace some of the biomass lost daily to the felling of acres of rainforest, for which we can’t really blame the people who live there: our ancestors hacked down forests all the way from the Atlantic seaboard to the Golden Gate.

     At the “What’s in it for me?” level, thoughtfully placed trees help reduce home heating and cooling costs by acting as buffers from winter winds and summer sun. The shade they provide can reduce water bills too, as plants receiving some relief from blast-furnace summer conditions require less supplemental irrigation. Maintenance couldn’t be easier: just provide adequate water and a topdressing of organic matter once or twice a year. Besides, the beauty of a well-sited tree is a joy forever and a legacy to future generations.

     Ready to get out there and do your bit for posterity and the planet? Okay then, now let’s talk holes.

     Have you ever seen those daunting planting instructions on landscape architects’ renderings or upscale plant tags? The ones that recommend digging a gorge about the breadth of Vermont and erecting a cinder cone-like structure in the crater’s center upon which to balance the plant while simultaneously undertaking a series of complicated maneuvers involving various strata of amendments and multiple dousings to backfill the gigantic hole? Heave a huge sigh of relief: you can forget that malarkey. The crux of such over-the-top instructions distills into two easily digested principles: 1) the hole has to be somewhat wider than the rootball; and 2) the fluffed-up contents of the backfilled hole will inevitably settle, so plan for that contingency in advance.

     It seems self-evident that a planting hole ought to be wider than the diameter of the unplanted plant. Make sure your hole comfortably accommodates the root-ball, with enough room left over to backfill without using a shoehorn or leaving air pockets. Personally, I like to be able to fit both my fists between the side of the hole and the pot on all sides.

     Actually, the most critical aspect of the planting hole is not its width, but its depth. This rates double emphasis: a shallow hole is always better that a deep one. Why does depth matter? Plants like being covered with dirt, right? Well, this is one of those yes-and-no situations. Yes, roots need coverage, but no, they don’t like being six feet under. Why? Because plants, like us, need to breathe to live: we use our noses and lungs, they use their roots. The deeper the roots are in the ground, the less air is available to them. Since most of a mature plant’s roots live within 18 inches of the surface, it is literally possible to asphyxiate a tree with dirt.

     From December 2010: Shall we resume the chat we started last month about trees?  

     To ensure your new tree sits high enough, find the place at the base of the trunk where it flares out: this point, called the root flare (duh), should always be above ground.

     Not only does digging a shallow hole mean less work, it neatly segues into Planting Principle #2, which is (for those of you with memories as retentive as mine) that every new plant settles over time. By starting high, you’ve already taken this phenomenon into account. For seven-gallon or smaller containers, leave the root flare one to two inches above ground level; for larger plants, aim for three to four inches.

     If your new tree arrives balled and burlapped, insist that the metal cage, strapping and all burlap be completely removed. Why? Cages and straps restrict root movement outward, in turn restricting canopy growth to the point of ugliness, sometimes to the point of death. Most burlap these days is synthetic and will not decompose. Ever. You can’t tell by sight or feel if the material is natural jute or spun styrofoam (those diabolical Monsanto engineers!), so play it safe and get rid of it. Yes, it’s an extra step. Yes, it’s worth it.

     Now let’s get your tree into the ground. Remove the pot (don’t laugh—forgetting this step is not unheard-of) and inspect the rootball. Sever any obviously circling roots. Rough up the outer surface—including the bottom—to facilitate new root growth into the surrounding soil. Throw a couple inches of Black Kow into the hole and mix well. Place the tree in the center of its new home. Make sure it’s straight, with its best side facing where you want it. (All container trees have a best side. It’s one of the sorrowful mysteries.) Refill the hole with the excavated dirt, tamping as you go to remove air pockets. Slope the backfill to just below the flare. Don’t worry if the mound looks funny—it’ll subside. Give your tree a good soaking, then topdress with another inch or two of Black Kow.

     On to irrigation. Anchor dripline at the outer edge of the rootball, and space three or four two-gallon emitters around the plant. Run that zone at least 15 minutes at least every other day for the first several years, until the root system establishes.   

     The bigger the tree at planting, the more likely it is to suffer transplant shock. Consistent watering is crucial to helping the tree weather symptoms like wilting and partial to total defoliation. (That’s why planting during dormancy is optimal: no leaves to wilt or fall off.) To help retain moisture, maintain a two-to-three-inch layer of organic mulch over the root zone out to six feet. Leave several inches of bare ground around the trunk, to create an inhospitable environment for non-beneficial fungi and bark-munching rodents.
     Just say no to staking. Why? Trees are like humans: give them an excuse not to move, and they’ll take it. Staking restricts the swaying needed to establish strong structural roots. If your new tree can’t stand upright on its own, it’s planted incorrectly. Besides, staking materials left in place longer than six months cause problems ranging from pathogen-inviting chafed bark to death-by-girdling. 
     What about fertilization? Tim and I topdress our trees with Kow-and-kelp twice (or, if I'm completely honest, once) a year. The recipe: three cups of kelp meal blended into a 50-pound bag of Kow. Distribute by the shovelful. Ideally, you'd clear away the mulch from the outer edge of the plant's canopy to maximize Kow-to-soil contact. If you're as lazy as I am, however, just dump the Kow mix on top of the mulch and ruffle it in with a garden claw. Repeat until all your trees are treated. That’s it.
      Gardening-products manufacturers have us thinking in terms of feeding the plant: but the truth of the matter is, it's the soil that needs tending. In order to transform chemical fertilizers into forms they can use, trees have to shut down other functions… like nutrient and water transport, growth, and defense mechanisms. Oh, dear. Seen from this perspective, sticking one of those rubbery tree spikes in the ground is at best counter-productive. At worst, it's heinously irresponsible.
     You know those allegedly water-retaining dikes of soil or mulch many sources recommend building around new transplants? Don't bother. Why not? you ask. Because in these parts, we have two basic types of dirt: sand and swamp-muck. No surface structure will ever corral water on top of sand. If you're stuck with dense and slow-draining swamp-muck, it's a bad idea to keep water sitting over your new plant's rootball. Unless, of course, you want the poor thing to drown.



Sunscald damage on
red maple

      One last thing: thin-skinned trees often fall victim to sunscald in winter. Due to freeze/thaw cycles, sunscald—also called southwest injury—causes vertical bark splits. Maples and fruit trees are particularly susceptible: so are most young trees. (With any luck, there'll be a picture of a sunscalded maple around here somewhere.) To prevent the problem, wrap the trunks of all newly installed trees between first and last frosts, which in southeastern NC means between late November and late March. With what? you ask. There are several choices. One commercial product I like looks like an over-sized perforated white-vinyl ringlet that spirals around the trunk. Natural burlap works well, too. I’ve read that a coat of white latex paint serves the same purpose, but I can’t believe that the break-down products of paint can be good for the soil. Air needs to circulate freely around the trunk to prevent problems worse than bark injury (no swathing with plastic bags, please). Just remove the wrap when temperatures moderate.

     I'm going to attempt links to mail-order companies that carry my favorite kelp meal (Gardens Alive!) and my favorite tree-wrap (Gemplers). Taking on difficult learning tasks is good for the aging brain, right? If I prove stupider than the machine (odds are 50-50), I'll just stick the references in the text of the next post.
     So there. That wasn't so bad. Please do sign on as a follower so I'll know somebody out there cares enough to read my ramblings. I'd also appreciate comments, and actively welcome constructive suggestions, especially concerning posting frequency---right now I'm thinking twice a week might be good. And for goodness' sake, please point out any grammatical failings you spot: a smug complacency is so unattractive.
      Thanks for dropping in. Y'all come back now, y'hear?
                                                                                              Kathy