It's Time for Container-Gardening
“A garden pot, wherein she laid it by,
and cover’d it with mould, and o’er it set
Sweet Basil, which her tears kept ever wet.”
John Keats, “Isabella, or the Pot of Basil”
It has become very post-modern to make anything, not otherwise occupied, into a planter. That pair of old cleats, say, with house-leeks and crawling sedum; or an old galosh complimented by the vertical accents of moisture-loving umbrella sedge (Cyperus flagelliformis) or common horsetail scouring rush (Equisetum), is certainly eye-catching enough and helps mightily to fill in those conversational lapses at garden parties. I recall one woman of the urban-indoor class, remarking, “Reminds me of my ex,” eyeing an old Wellie , from which cyanotic Joe Pye weed (Eupatorium purpureum) was drunkenly leaning up a down-spout.
Water-management is the main concern in container-growing–too much versus too little, however creative the vessel may be for one’s garden statement. It is wise to wear the shoe or boot until a hole appears in the sole or, more modernly, until the upper comes partly unglued, to provide for drainage. If one has not got water-gardening in mind, getting rid of excess damp is essential. Never place a saucer under any container-grown specimen out-of-doors, unless you are trying to grow your own rice or other native of the swamp. A good rain will fill it and produce root-rot quicker than you can say, “Phytophthora.” Those glazed Victorian cache pots, found at the more exclusive yard sales, are just a pretty way of killing a plant, if they lack a drainage-hole. Suppose you want to use your old motorcycle helmet as a hanging planter. Fuschia would look well, or impatiens; for the foliage oriented, rabbits-foot fern (Davalia) is a suitable choice. But first get out the old quarter-inch drill and make three or four holes in the helmet where your brightest ideas form.
Just dare to go away for the weekend, and all your best ideas will have crisped–the baby’s tears in the baby’s old shoes, the tobacco plant in the pipe-mix tin and the philodendron, trying to get its start in a crevice of drift-wood. It’s a principle: small containers dry out quickly. I recall reading of a Japanese actor, who would rush home at intermissions to place melting ice chips on the roots of his miniature bonsai collection, a sort of time-release watering method. By giving your planter some mass--in an old commode, say--you can avoid an eight-times-a-day watering schedule and often skip misting altogether. Your begonias might make it through a long, sunny summer week-end, as well. Just let your container dry out and then water thoroughly.
Soil is old-fashioned, old as dirt, in fact. Modern thought on container planting calls for super-light mixes, composed mainly of peat moss, with plastic foam pellets to aerate it. Such a potting mix will retain up to seven times its own weight in moisture and resist compacting over time. Liquid fertilizer absorbed into the fiber will provide for the health of your Bougainvillea or whatever. Commercial, Ph balanced mixes, with wetting agents to get the peat moss quickly absorbing moisture, are available–or make your own. Just try not to let peat moss get too dry, as it is hard to re-wet. In a pinch, a drop of dish-detergent will serve as wetting agent, or peat can be made instantly absorbent by pouring hot water onto it, if that is convenient. For such acid-loving specimens as the magnificent vireya rhododendrons, florist’s azaleas, terrestrial orchids (Bletilla, Pleione), the camellias or a nice gardenia, three parts of small fir-bark chips to one part peat moss is a good, long-lasting mix. But do not use any other kind of bark.
Those old bath tubs, if you can still find them, are priceless, and priced accordingly. But the possibilities are endless. Panty-hose stuffed with potting mix, seated on a bench, with strawberries rooted through holes in the material and in the top would be interesting. Water daily by spraying with a hose. Use the old bean to create something new. Old beans..., that’s an idea–a vinyl pocketbook with red runners escaping out the top... or a pitcher of, say, mignonette.
A pitcher of mignonette
In a tenement’s highest casement,–
Queer sort of flower-pot–yet
That pitcher of mignonette
Is a garden in heaven set,
To the little sick child in the basement–
The pitcher of mignonette,
In a tenement’s highest casement.
Helen Cuyler Bunner
appeared June, 2001