The Anti-Christmas Cactus

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Ever get a pretty little Christmas Cactus as a gift, and wonder why it didn’t bloom the following Christmas?  It’s not being anti-holiday, it’s just tired.

The most likely problem is that your cactus is suffering from a type of insomnia.  Days in sunlight and long evenings in artificial light have robbed it of the ability to go into a period of light dormancy – or rest – which it desperately needs in order to gather enough energy to bloom again.

Circadian rhythm sleep disorders, as we all know, can really do a bang up job of messing with our energy levels.  In the case of plants – which, by the way, also have circadian rhythms – messing with their energy interferes with their basic functions, like: dormancy, budding, blooming, and forming seeds.  Just as some humans are severely affected by erratic schedules and alternating time zones, some plants are very sensitive to it as well.

Yep.  You guessed it.  The Christmas Cactus is one of these.  The problem lies in something called photoperiodism.

Photoperiodism refers to the physical effect on plants of alternating light and dark periods.  Perhaps you’ve heard the terms “short-day plants” and “long-day plants” before, and found it all confusing… but in essence, those terms are just labels meant to tell you which plants are particularly sensitive about how much light they receive – and most importantly – how much darkness they receive.

Long-day plants flower when the daylight lengthens and the darkness of night shortens below a specific threshold – triggering the chemical changes in the plant that initiate budding and flowering.  These are typically the plants that bloom as the days get longer in the spring and summer.

Short-day plants, as might be expected, do the opposite.  It’s the shortening of daylight and the lengthening of darkness that initiates bloom.  These are our fall blooming plants.

Plants that are not critically sensitive to the length of dark and light are called day-neutral plants.  While light plays a factor in day-neutral plants, other factors often play a bigger role in triggering the blooming cycle, such as the age of the plant.

An important thing to remember here is that even though the terms “long-day” and “short-day” make it sound like the length of the daylight is what is most important, it’s not.  What’s most important, what triggers the blooming process is the length of the darkness.  Darkness is what tells the plant when it’s time to bloom.

A Christmas cactus is a tropical plant, not a desert plant, and it’s a short-day plant – which means it needs long nights to initiate bloom.  In its natural habitat (the humid, coastal areas in Brazil) this plant typically blooms in May.  Remember that the seasons are opposite in the southern hemisphere, so May would be roughly equal to November in our northern hemisphere.

The Christmas cactus (genus Schlumbergera) needs a minimum of 12 hours of darkness each day for approximately 6 to 8 weeks before it will initiate bloom.  This requirement was taken care of for you before you first received your blooming plant at Christmastime, but if you want the plant to bloom again the next year, specifically at Christmas, you will need to do the job yourself.  Here’s how you do it:

After it blooms this holiday (if you just bought it or received it) care for it as you would most house plants.  Like the majority of house plants (note: there are always exceptions!) the Christmas cactus does just fine with moderate watering (not bone dry, not sopping wet), average humidity (not water dripping from the ceiling, not air so dry it hurts to breathe), and cool to moderate temperatures (60 to 70ish).

In other words, pretty much like we keep our homes in the winter.

In the spring, after temperatures consistently stay above 50 to 55 degrees at night, put your cactus outside, in an area where it receives morning sun (not hot afternoon sun) and let it spend the spring and summer season outside.  Like your other potted plants outdoors, be sure to water it when needed so it doesn’t dry out.

Now… here’s the tricky part.  Well, maybe not too tricky!  In the fall, when nighttime temperatures start to drop below that 55 degree mark, bring the cactus back inside.  Care for it as usual.  THEN… in mid-October, move it to a darker, cooler area of your house.  Put it in a room you don’t use much.  A second bathroom, or even a guest bedroom.  If the bedroom has windows that’s fine, because you’re not going in there turning the light on for hours every day so the cactus is only getting the natural light – and the natural darkness – from outside those windows.  (Of course, if the windows in that room face a blaring outside porch light then this won’t work.)

The main rule of thumb?  Indirect light for part of the day (such as naturally occurs during daylight hours), but keep it away from the artificial light after the sun goes down.  You are aiming for 12 hours or more of darkness.

As for watering, reduce the amount of water you give your cactus during this time, as you are inducing the cactus into a period of semi-dormancy and it doesn’t need a lot of water during dormancy.  Again, don’t let it go bone dry, but if the soil is a little dry to the touch each time before you give it a little water again, that is a good thing.  Think sips, not gulps.

In 6 to 8 weeks your cactus should start to show signs of budding.  This is when you can start to slowly integrate it back into the routine you had it in before you sent it into hibernation mode… slowly increasing the light exposure, slowly increasing the water schedule.

Your cactus will finally have gotten the rest it needs – no more insomnia – and to show it’s appreciation it should once again display it’s full bloom for you just in time for Christmas.

Happy Holidays everyone!

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The Great Pumpkin Patch

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One year, I decided to dedicate my vegetable garden to nothing but pumpkin plants.  Since my husband has a bit of a thing about pumpkins (Hubby’s Pumpkin Obsession), I had it in mind to save ourselves some serious money by growing our own.

The pumpkin patch was on a side lot to our house.  We’ve grown vegetables there many years and the garden patch is quite large, so there certainly was ample room.  Or so we thought.

Until the rain started.

Knowing how large and spreading pumpkin plants can become, I only planted two seedlings.  But that year, we had twice the amount of rainfall than normal.

The weather was pumpkin perfect.

The pumpkin plants filled the garden plot in no time flat.  Then, they started to encroach on the lawn.  This didn’t bother us much.  At first.  But eventually, it was getting out of hand, so I started going out to the patch every week and cutting off the outside edge of growth.

Pretty soon, I could no longer keep up with cutting the plant back, and enlisted the help of my neighbor from across the street.  We split up the chores.  She would come over and chop back the plant once or twice a week, on the days when I didn’t do it.  Still, the boundaries of the pumpkin patch grew.

My neighbor who lives behind us plants a big bed of tomatoes every year and sells them at market.  Our pumpkins were encroaching on her tomatoes, which were nowhere near where we originally planted our pumpkin patch.  I saw her out there one day, angrily yanking pumpkin vines away from her tomatoes.  Clearly, she wasn’t happy.

“How could this have happened?” I thought.  “I’m chopping it back all the time!”  But once the pumpkin plant gained a foothold, it was impossible to contain.  It wasn’t just wide, it had grown tall.  You couldn’t get through the four foot high tangle of vines.  Plus, there were pumpkins in those vines.  You took your own life trying to maneuver around in there without falling and seriously hurting yourself.

It was a jungle in the middle of suburbia.

We chopped and yanked and still the rain fell and the pumpkins grew.

One day, our neighbor to the side of our lot approached me with his head down.  “Your pumpkin patch has really grown,” he said.  He shuffled his feet.  I knew what was coming.  This man was one of the nicest, quietest neighbors we had.  He never complained about anything.  Finally, he gathered his courage and looked me straight in the eyes.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to have a garden,” he said.  “But the vines are growing up the side of my shed.  I draw the line when I have to yank plants off the door just to get into my shed.”

I felt humiliated.  How much anguish had we caused this man, to bring him to the point where he braved his shyness enough to complain?

I abandoned the effort to control the pumpkin from encroaching on my own yard and – together – my little band of pumpkin control (me, Hubby, and the lady across the street) focused all our efforts on keeping the pumpkin away from one neighbors tomatoes and the other neighbors shed.

At season end, when the patch finally died down and the vines parted enough for the pumpkins to show through, we had so many pumpkins it looked like a farm stand.  To appease the neighbors, we gave away free pumpkins.  Hubby took pumpkins to work with him, and handed them out to his co-workers.  We supplied our family with pumpkins, ate some, and decorated the front of our house with many, many of them.  We gave pumpkins to the lady across the street, for her to give to her family as well.

Definitely, we saved money that year, and we saved our neighbors money as well.  Doubtless Linus (of Charles Schulz fame) would’ve been in seventh heaven.  But what it cost us in neighborly love was another story altogether.

The moral of this story?  Grow tomatoes.

The Pink Bluebell – A Garden Fable

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Fancy noticed them whispering, and tried to ignore it.  Still, she couldn’t help but overhear some of the comments.

“It just scorches me how she’s bringing down our property values,” said the bluebell behind the windmill.

“She’s the wrong color to be living here.  She must know she doesn’t belong,” said a gangly bluebell by the fence.

Fancy tried to make herself seem as inconspicuous as possible, bending her pastel pink head to one side to reduce her size.

“Stop slouching,” admonished Petal, her best friend who grew right beside her.

“Easy for you to say,” replied Fancy.

Petal sighed a flutter in the breeze, but didn’t answer.  She was tall and strong and had the sweetest scent in town, a fact which made her the envy of all who knew her.

Fancy, on the other leaf, didn’t have much scent.  This wasn’t unusual for her kind, she knew many bluebells whose scent was as weak as hers, but it didn’t help to have too many weaknesses when you were already different, such as she was.

The main problem Fancy had was the color of her head.  No other bluebells in DJ town were pink.  They were various shades of blue.  Most were a dark, royal blue.  Some were a brilliant azure.  There were even a few baby blues – lucky them – baby blues were the most coveted of all.

But only Fancy was pink.  It was bad to be pink.

She bent her stem forward and nodded toward the ground, still trying to find a way to disappear.

Petal fluttered another sigh before speaking.  She was one of the lucky baby blues and Fancy knew that her friendship with Petal was the only thing keeping the others from crowding her out.  Everyone loved Petal.

“It’s not personal,” said Petal.  “It’s not really you they don’t like.  It’s just your color.  They’re afraid of it.”

“But my color is part of who I am,” cried Fancy.  “I can’t change that.”  She was so upset that she squeezed tight one of her little blossoms, until it detached and floated down to the dark, moist earth beneath her.

“Oh Fancy!  I wish you wouldn’t cry.”  Petal draped one long strap-shaped leaf around her, trying to comfort her friend.

Fancy shuddered but made no attempt to dislodge Petal’s leaf.  All around her she listened to the other bluebells complaining, unable to distract herself from their negativity.  She understood what Petal was saying.  They were afraid of her pink.  What if her kind spread?  What if their offspring grew pink?  The town mayor preferred blue.  What if they or their children were thrown out of the precinct?

The weeds were snickering at her plight, and the daylilies were outright laughing.  Fancy could ignore the weeds… they were the local gang problem and were always up to no good.  A byproduct of the general downtrend in the whole community.

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She put the daylilies out of her mind too.  The way they had spread and snapped up the dirt cheap real estate made them unpopular with everyone these days.  But she couldn’t ignore the way the clematis was egging on its bluebell neighbors.  Why were they always so aggressive?  Or the way the bluebells living down the path were frowning at her, along with the heuchera and geraniums.  What did she ever do to them?

Even the bluebells that lived on the outskirts next to the impressive, giant Hosta cottages, were whispering and pointing their petioles her way.

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Fancy squeezed loose another blossom.  Maybe if she cried enough and lost all her pink, the other bluebells would accept her.

Down the pathway a low, round, spiky head bent forward and addressed her.  “Stop feelin’ sorry fer yourself,” Stinky said.  “I’m the only ornamental onion here and do you see me cryin’?”

Fancy was about to retort that Stinky wasn’t a threat to their offspring, but just then she felt a change in the air current and the ground began to shudder.  Around the weigela bush came the town mayor, DJ herself!  Behind her were four other humans, who stood momentarily surveying the town before leaving again.  When they came back, they had shovels and pruning shears.  One of the humans even had a rototiller.

Oh no!  Developers!

The residents of DJ town cried pleas of mercy but the humans paid them no heed.  This is how it was with humans.  Whether they couldn’t hear or chose to ignore, Fancy wasn’t sure, but every resident tried to communicate with them anyway.

The mayor stood and directed while the workers began digging.  They were moving a group of residents to another block.  At least they were kind enough not to out and out evict residents from the town, except for a few old timers who already had an inkling they were soon moving on to the promised compost-land.

After the workers had relocated the residents, one of them brought out the rototiller and fired it up with a deafening burst of wind and sound.

“They’re clearing the land!” cried Petal.  “Watch out!”  A dozen or so bluebells were in the front line of battle and squealed in fright as the rototiller came dangerously close, but none were as close to the blades as Fancy was.

When the roaring stopped, Fancy and the other bluebells still stood.  There was a great clearing in front of them, Fancy being the closest to the edge.

One of the humans leaned over Fancy.  He was holding a pair of pruners and motioned to the mayor.

“DJ,” he called.  “Come look at this. Why is this one bluebell pink?”

All eyes were on Fancy.

“That’s it!  You’re done for now, you freak!” screamed the weeds.

“So long loser!” hollered the daylilies.

“Save yourself Petal!  Move away from her!”  yelled the other bluebells.

But Petal just folded herself as close to Fancy as she could get.  “Hide under my leaves,” she whispered.  It was too late.  The humans had seen Fancy and were pushing Petal out of the way to get to her.

Fancy closed her blossoms, not wanting to see the inevitable when it happened.  She extended her roots as far and fast as she could and twisted them to hold on tight.

“What a sweet little plant,” said a kind voice.

“It doesn’t fit with the rest,” said another.  Then added, with a hint of humor… “It’s a bit of a rebel, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” answered the kind voice.  “But it adds a special spot of beauty to the whole.”

Fancy risked a peek and opened one blossom.  The kind voice was coming from DJ, the mayor of their fine town.

“Look at how the pink accents the other bluebells.  What a pretty color combination.  If it spreads, won’t the blend be beautiful?”

The other humans agreed, all looking at Fancy and smiling.

“I’ll come out tomorrow and put down grass seed,” said the mayor.  “A green lawn, lined with bluebells, daylilies, and clematis will look lovely here.”  Then two of the workers set an ornate garden bench in a bare spot in front of the pathway, and they all gathered up their tools and left.

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“A green lake,” breathed Petal.  “They’re putting one of the green lakes here.  Right beside us.”  She spread wide her stems and grinned tip to tip.

Fancy grinned right back.  Everyone was murmuring.  First relief, and then joy.  They all loved the green lakes and rivers in their town.  It meant a big jump in property values.

“Thanks for sticking up for me Petal.”  Fancy touched one leaf tip to her friends pretty blue flowers.  “That was a brave thing to do.”

The sun was high in the sky now, and bees were buzzing about the town.  The bluebells were once again staring at Fancy, but they appeared to have a different attitude this time.  She didn’t hear them complaining.  Instead, they were contemplative and quiet.

Petal leaned over and affectionately brushed her baby blue head against Fancy’s pink.  She gestured to the other bluebells but addressed Fancy.  “Know what they’re thinking?”

“What?”

“Their wondering if maybe they shouldn’t try and be your friend too.  Instead of shutting you out.”

“I don’t get it,” replied Fancy.  “Why should they change their minds now?”

“Well, for one, the mayor fancies you,” said Petal.  “They don’t have to worry anymore about losing blue.  They can blend without retribution.”

“So?” said Fancy.  She still couldn’t wrap her stems around the whole, complex problem.

“I told you.  It was never you they didn’t like.  It was their fear of being found pink.”

When Fancy didn’t answer right away Petal nudged her and gently said, “It’s a start, Fancy.  We all have to start somewhere.”

Fancy thought about this.  She wasn’t sure she could forget their ill treatment quite so readily.  But maybe Petal was right.  It was a start.

She swayed in the bright afternoon light, enjoying the bees in her blossoms and the warmth of the soil between her roots.  “Know what, Petal?”

“Hmmm?”  Petal was caught up in the sensation of pollination herself.

“We’re living on lake front property now.”

Petal glanced at her and laughed.  “You got that right!  And guess who owns the prime location?”

Fancy looked around and realized it was her that was closest to the new shoreline.  She laughed back at Petal, straightened to her full height, opened wide every blossom and stretched her anthers.

She tilted her pastel head to gather as much light as she could, and she shined her color for the whole town to see.

Yes, she thought.  Things were definitely looking up.  It  was good to be pink.

The Renegade Bluebell

 

 

Great Balls Of…. Green?

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Marimo balls are the “pocket pets” of the plant world.

Also known as Moss Balls or Lake Balls, these cute, fuzzy little green balls could fall in the category of novelty plants.

They are perfect for low-light rooms, an office desktop, or for decorating a table.  Plus, they are great attention getters from co-workers, friends, and guests.

I saw pictures of them while cruising eBay one day, and did a little research.  The more I read about them, the more fascinated I became.  (Yeah, I ended up buying them on eBay.)

As with any plant, they have their aficionados and collectors.  Certainly I could be one, if I let myself get carried away with them.

They are actually a species of algae, but don’t let that turn you off.  They look like velvet, and feel like velvet too.  They’re pretty darn cool!

Whenever I have guests, I fish one of my Marimo’s out of their jar and drop them into my visitors hand.

That visitor is always impressed.  They love the feel and they can’t believe the balls are real, live, photosynthesizing plants.

Some websites will try to tell you that algae is not a plant…  sorry guys, but Marimo’s are scientifically classed as belonging to the Plantae kingdom (Taxonomy discussions on algae become mostly semantics anyway).

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One of the coolest things about Marimo’s are the ways you can stage them.  As you can tell from the photo’s, I just keep mine in a plain, glass cookie jar… nothing fancy… but Marimo’s can be dressed up much the same as the ever popular lucky bamboo pots, with colorful glass beads, ribbons, and beautiful vases.

In addition, given a little extra room, Marimo’s have a habit of sinking and rising to the water surface, much like the wax inside a Lava Lamp does.  Take a beautiful glass container, put some glass beads in the bottom, add tap water and the Marimo’s, and you have a real conversation starter.

Marimo balls are popular additions to aquariums as well, but if you’re interested in using them in that fashion it would be a good idea to do a little research and look up how other aquarium owners use them.

As far as caring for them in a vase goes, plain tap water works just fine, with a little care:

Every 7 to 10 days take your Marimo’s out of the vase and rinse them off in clean tap water, squeezing them just a tiny bit to remove any impurities.  Wash out the vase and fill it with new tap water (room temp), then put the Marimo’s back in.  That’s it!

If you want to start new Marimo’s you can tease a little bit off one of the balls and put that in the vase alongside the others.  The little ball will eventually grow into a big ball.

Marimo’s grow somewhat slowly.  I have read websites where it says it takes 7 years for a ball to grow to the size of my palm, but my experience has been that my Marimo’s grow much faster than that.  Still, they are not like my potted plants, they do increase gradually, not with leaps and bounds.

Also, if you find they are losing their nice spherical shape, it means that not all sides of your Marimo are getting enough light to photosynthesize, and is thus growing more on one side than another.  The solution is simple, just twist the vase around occasionally so the balls tumble around and are exposed to the light much more evenly.

If you see little bubbles surrounding your moss balls, this is a good thing.  It’s called pearling, and is a sign that the plants are photosynthesizing well.  It’s quite lovely to see – makes the water look like champagne.

Orchids – Sexy flowers with surprising tricks.

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Hubby and I went to the orchid show at the Chicago Botanic Garden.  More than 10,000 orchids filled the exhibition hall and three huge greenhouses, the first ever orchid exhibition that CBG has done.

I have to say, I never used to like orchids.  In fact, I had a distinct dislike for them.  I always thought the way the blooms arose out of the foliage on their long, bare stems looked very odd.  The flowers were colorful, but stuck on the ends of those stems like some kind of a brightly spotted cleaning tool.

What really bothered me, though, was the way the flowers had an indecent quality to them.  I’ve given botany lectures before… I know all about the birds, the bees, and that every plant wants to have sex and make other little “planties”.  But somehow, orchids flaunted that process in a way that I found distasteful.  Orchids aren’t just having sex.  They look like they’re having sex.  It took a long time for me to get past that and appreciate them (or accept them) as they are.

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It was those botany lectures that turned me around.  I don’t know if I taught my audience anything, but I did end up teaching myself.  In the case of orchids, I came to be so fascinated with how overtly ingenious they are at finding ways to propagate, that I was able to overlook my own puritanical sensibilities.  Once I was able to put that aside, the barrier was breached and orchids began to wind their spindly little stems around my heart.

Plant reproduction can be done in more than one way and it can be a complicated process.  But in general, here’s a brief (very incomplete) description that fits a majority of plants:

Male parts of a flower:  anther, pollen

Female part of a flower:  stigma, ovule

The anther contains a yellow or reddish substance, which is pollen.  Pollen is the sperm-cell of the plant.  The stigma has a sweet, sticky end that lures insects (birds, etc.), who slide their tongues (or whatever!) inside to sip nectar.

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Pollination process:  the insect brushes up against the anthers while sipping nectar.  Pollen from the anthers clings to the insects body and they carry (transfer) it to the next stigma they visit.  The pollen (sperm) travels down the style (tube) to the ovary, where hundreds of egg-cells (ovules) await fertilization.  If an egg-cell is successfully fertilized, the ovule will develop into a mature seed.  Seeds are the end product of the sexual cycle.  The embryo will be inside of the seed.  If you could split the seed open that is.  In the case of orchids, the seeds are so tiny they are like dust.

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The really interesting part is how the plant goes about attracting those pollinators in the first place.  Especially since some orchids don’t produce nectar.

These plants will actually produce a sweet, nectar-like scent or make their flowers look like they produce nectar, to draw in unsuspecting insects that haven’t got a clue.  Imagine the disappointment that bug is in for!  Too late, the insect’s already covered in orchid sperm and on his way to the next trick.

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The flower might emit a specific smell, peculiar to a particular insect, something that only that particular bug has a yearning for.  Like scents that imitate the sexual hormone of the insect, or the smell may be reminiscent of rotting meat (to attract flies).  The release of the scent may be only during specific times, such as at night, for night-flying insects.

Or the flower may resemble a particular insect – taking on the color pattern, shape, scent, and texture of the female version, drawing the attention of the male insect (who once again is covered in sperm before he realizes he’s been duped).

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Flies love the colors red and brown (resembles “dead” things).  Bees like blue or yellow.  Butterflies prefer the “hot” oranges and reds, and moths go for white and pale pastels.

But orchids don’t just use color to attract pollinators, they also use them to repel them.  They might use red to draw the insect, then – when fertilization has taken place – the flower changes colors and becomes, say, yellow… because certain insects can’t see yellow, and so they’ll stop bothering the flower.

They create contrasting color patterns like a bulls-eye in the center (come and get it, right here!), or the bloom period coincides exactly with the period of greatest insect activity.

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The multitude of messages and tricks that plants use to attract pollinators is complex and not fully understood.  None is more interesting to observe than those in the orchid.

Most orchids grow on trees and are native to the tropics and subtropics., but there are also those that grow on rocks and in the ground.  There are more than 200 species native to North America, approx. 45 of those in Illinois.  There are species on every continent (except Antarctica), in all kinds of habitats – deserts, mountains, semi-aquatic – there is even one species in Australia that grows and blooms completely underground!

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Did you know that vanilla is actually an orchid?  The vanilla bean used to flavor your morning coffee is the dried and cured seedpod of Vanilla planifolia, an orchid native to Mexico.  The vanilla vine is also one of the most attractive vines on the planet (this is totally this author’s humble opinion).

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Unfortunately, for those of you that are interested in attending, the CBG exhibition ended March 16th.  Luckily, however, that really only means they’ve removed the orchids from the exhibition hall.  I’m sure there are still plenty of blooming orchids to see in the greenhouses, as they grow there year round.  If you haven’t gone there yet, do it soon.  They are incredible.

 

In the meantime, take a look at these pictures I’m sharing with you.  Imagine if you will the complexities that God and nature has created in these fascinating plants, and see if they don’t wind themselves around your heart as well.

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An Early Sharing O’ The Green

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Not long ago, my neighbor told me that the ground in our area is frozen solid 20 inches below the surface.  This seems difficult for me to fathom, so I set out to check the facts for myself.  I have no idea where she got that information (I neglected to ask), but I could find nothing in my online search to validate this claim.  Granted, I didn’t search very thoroughly, so if anyone knows where to find this information, please do tell.  Regardless, we’ve certainly had enough frigid cold temps to freeze the ground to record depths, but we’ve also had practically non-stop snow for almost five months now.

Hard to fathom, isn’t it?  When it’s said (or typed) out loud, it seems almost surreal.  According to the local weather center, our 2013-14 official winter count (to date) is 78.8 inches of the white stuff.

That’s 6 1/2 feet!  It looks more like January outside than it does March.

Which brings me back to that frozen ground.

As gardeners know, the determination of whether your outside plants make it through the harsh winter depends more on snow cover than actual air temps.  Snow is a great insulator.  I can only imagine the insulating power of 6 feet of the stuff.

Nonetheless, frozen 20 inches down or just a few, it seems likely I won’t be seeing my crocus anytime soon.

Last time we had temps that reached into the forties for a few days, the ground dared to reveal itself in a few small patches here and there, so I conducted my own experiment.  Close to my house, by the driveway, in a protected area, beside the pine tree (are you getting that this was the only place I could even reach?) I gave a good kick to that little brown patch.

Yep, harder than a brick bat.

Not very scientific, but it told me what I wanted to know.

For most of the years I’ve lived here, the snowdrops (Galanthus, which is Latin for “milk-white flowers”) have popped their little green stems up through the snow around that pine tree and dangled their tiny white flowers, shouting as loud as the biggest tree that Spring was coming, and coming fast.  In that protected spot, I’ve never seen them later than the third week of February.  In a warm winter, I’ve even spotted them in late January.

The jeweled snow crocus under that tree join their voices in early March, quickly followed by a succession of tommies, Dutch crocus, miniature iris, RipVanWinkle daffodils, squill and crown imperials.  These early blooming flowers color my window view long before the first tulip ever rises high above the surface.

But not this year, and based on my non-scientific pronouncement of brick-hard ground, I don’t see it happening any time soon.

If you’ve read my previous posts, you know I love winter, so I’m not complaining.  Still, I’m too much of a plant lover to even THINK of spending our winters without a steady influx of supplemental greenery.  Trips to the botanical gardens, where the greenhouses are literally draped with exotic blooms – houseplants in practically every room of my house – to me, these are as much a part of winter as the snow and ice.

I go outside and love the cold.  I come inside and admire the Amaryllis blooming on the table.  I admire the fleshy oddness of a variety of succulents, brush up against the Kentia palm when I reach for the phone, and run my fingers through the yellow bamboo – just to hear the music of the hollow canes as they knock against each other.

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I bought an incredibly beautiful little azalea at the grocery a few weeks ago.  The colors are amazing and the blooms last for a very long time.  It sits on my desk as I work, in a spot where the rising sun bathes it in the morning.  It literally glows, reminding me every day of the importance of sunlight in our world, while the snow and ice outside the window shimmers in the bright play of moving shadows.

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In this post, I’m sharing some photos with you – a few of my wonderful green companions.  My hope is that they brighten your day in this long, intense winter we’re having.

I have a deep-seated love affair going with each and every one of these plants.  Hokey as it sounds, I radiate my love to them and I believe they love me too.  Let them be a remembrance for you… of green leaves, pink blossoms, sweet smells and warm days to come.  And if you’re having a green love affair of your own while we wait for those warm days, please consider sharing it with myself and my readers.

We could all use “a wee bit ‘o the green” right about now.

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