plants | Cabin Mama

We can safely say winter is over now – finally! So again I think the same thing as last year, “I’m only going to buy a few plants to put in containers on the deck.” Sure I will. Why am I skeptical? Because I get into the plant store and I can’t help myself. I buy up loads of color knowing most of them won’t survive from the hail storms, gophers, deer and grasshoppers.

But this year I’m committed to spreading beauty all around our property. Before I head out to the store, I do my research and pray for divine intervention. I’m determined the deer won’t get the best of me this year. But deer resistant plants don’t mean deer-proof. The graceful critters are beautiful to watch but they munch their way through my garden like Godzilla beating a path across town.

I’ve got to give the plants credit, however. After the wildfire, spunky survivor daylilies wrangled their way through the toasted ground to blossom despite the destruction. Their glorious orange blossoms burst forth like a busty woman breaking out of her bodice. Every year they were marvelous to look at swaying gently with the breeze. (The lilies, not the busty women.)

But horrors! As I walked out to the deck to gaze upon my beautiful lilies, I was met with the sight of naked stalks. Every blossom was gone, sheared off at the top with only a pair of petals helplessly strewn on the ground. The deer. It had to be the deer! The rabbits couldn’t reach that far up. Or could they?

Then there’s the grasshoppers. They march in formation, little machete mouths chomping through the poor defenseless plants I prayed would live to be grownups. A few even found their way onto the deck and attacked the potted flowers, carving lacy holes in leaves that ended up looking like fishnet stockings.

Every year I have hope this will be the season my flowers have a fighting chance. Surely they deserve to survive and give pleasure to all who visit. They tip their heads up at me with beautiful sunny smiles, but I choke back tears knowing they are doomed. Won’t I ever learn?

Digging in the dirt is an inherited addiction. Descended from a farming family, there was always something growing around our house (in addition to six towheaded kids). My Mom has a green thumb and unparalleled talent at rooting overgrown plants. They thrive under her care and consider it the best gig in town. My dad grew up picking bugs off the cauliflower plants and tying up the leaves to protect them from the sun. My brother grows gigantic plants and can’t bear to part with them when he runs out of room. His siblings are tired of babysitting.

While I’m not inclined to pick bugs off plants, there are weeds I do battle with. Not the skimpy, weak little root systems that give up without a fight. These are the dastardly growths with roots a foot long. They hang on with a concrete grip. They taunt me with every tug until the leaves give way and leave behind foot long roots that will grow back another day. I imagine them slowly reappearing, creeping along the ground and spreading across my manicured flower bed at night. Straight from the movie, Little Shop of Horrors, they wind their way up and crawl towards our bedroom window whining “Feed me, Seymour!”

Pray for me. I can’t help myself. Soon I’ll be back at the store for another load of flowers — and a couple bottles of deer spray.

Throw out a plant? Never!

In our family, we do everything in our power to save them: repot, fertilize, move it to another window, take it outdoors or bring it in. We take a cutting and put it in water hoping it will grow roots. Then we can start a new plant all over again!

My brother has it bad. He collected a jungle of plants over the years, some of which grew up to be taller than most in my family. He fusses over his plants more than I fuss over my writing. He farmed his babies out to all his siblings for care-taking duty.

I was gifted with his schefflera (Umbrella plant), which grew so leggy, I gave it a haircut. Unfortunately the plant didn’t survive. My mom felt so sorry for my brother she bought him another one. I think she’s feeding his habit.

My brother also had a tall cactus which his dog chewed into bits. Mom rescued the pieces and now she has lots of these plants growing in her house and on the deck.

The biggest one is three feet tall. I don’t like cactus so it was easy for me to resist.

Dad’s office has been home to the biggest, ugliest plant in the entire household. You couldn’t pay me to adopt that one. Its days are numbered though. It’s bad if Mom plans to get rid of it. She’s afraid it’ll reach over and grab the nearest person.

Mom has so many plants in her gardens that it’s a major production if hail is predicted. And we get a lot of hail! Dad built a contraption with plastic sheeting so she can cover her plants when the skies darken. It’s like Mission Impossible trying to cover all her flowers.

Dad likes to cut things back. He pruned their corkscrew willow almost to the ground and put a bucket over it. He wanted to open up the view of Pikes Peak from their dining room window. But Mom noticed green shoots growing out from under the bucket. “Just a little fertilizer and water should do the trick,” she laughed. (Bwahahaha!) Now her corkscrew willow is ten feet tall and Dad is under strict orders not to touch it again!

Mom asked me recently, “Laurie, I’ve been rooting some plants. Would you like one?” She’s so sneaky! She can’t find places to put all her plants as the weather turns colder, and she can’t bear to throw out the babies. So she pawns them off on all her kids. Last year she gave me a small spider plant and it grew so fast, I split it into three parts. And here she is trying to give me more. She’s devilishly clever.

I’m careful about plants I bring into the house. I hate those pesky little gnats that lay eggs in the potting soil. That’s the only thing that’ll make me toss a plant. I’ve tried everything to kill them (the bugs, not the plants): soapy water, “green” insecticides and even rap music. Nothing seems to work.

Last year I had tons of day lilies and a beautiful clematis with purple flowers. But something ate all the blossoms. I suspect it was those adorable deer and rabbits. Or maybe the moles are to blame. They’re all evil. Evil, I say! So this year I told my husband, “I’ll fix those pesky varmints,” and planted lots of marigolds. There isn’t a critter around that will eat marigolds.

But now it’s like a scene from Sophie’s Choice. Decisions, decisions. Which plants will I bring indoors and which will die a horrid death during our wicked winter? My geraniums are beautiful right now, sportin’ a bevy of peach colored blossoms. I want to save them all but we don’t have the room.

It’ll be different at our new house. We’re almost done with the plans and hope to dig dirt in the Spring. (My husband calls it soil; remember he’s an engineer.) We’ve made sure there are wide window sills for all my plants. And I’ve already transplanted “hens and chicks” from our property into pots rather than lose them to the jaws of construction equipment. Once the house is complete, I’ll transplant them back to grow and prosper. They will live to see another day!

Yes, I’m a lost cause when it comes to plants. It’s in my genes. Dad grew up on a truck farm and Mom was in the local Garden Club. My sister has a spider plant the size of an elephant in her powder room. My other sister has a beautiful patio covered in flowers, bright foliage and mini-lights. My little brother has an eight foot ficus in his house.

We are all plant lovers!

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