a cage. He’d be there only when the vents were open. Otherwise he’d be
free to fly. I might even have a parakeet for his company. I’d have
a radio to play softly--only classical, gentle music. Nothing with
brass--mostly violins and soft ones at that. No telephone--never. I’d
have a bench for my guests--wrought iron very likely, since I think
it would fit the décor, but the sort that is comfortable. Somehow,
I’m going to have to figure out a way of labeling my plants so the
labels will not show. Perhaps, we can do it electronically. As I have
said, I would have a rocking chair, an old and battered one. And the
grandchildren--this being a dream I can have grandchildren (our own
youngsters are still young). There would be a curiosity corner for
them where they could touch the mimosa and see it fold, watch a pitcher
plant catch a fly, pick fluffy bolls of cotton, or dig a small peanut
crop.
My garden will be full of surprises. Any day of the year a visitor
will find something new--a miniature orchid flowering on the branch of
the bromeliad tree; iridescent _Selaginella uncinata_ stalking on
stilt-roots under a dwarf banana; carved columns, old urns, pieces of
ceramic art I expect to pick up in my travels. Here, perhaps an old
tree trunk sunk naturally in the soil; there, a log half buried as it
would be in the woods; and then some stepping stones, two or three at
the most to entice guests to look down on a mound of oxalis in full
flower; overhead, a moss-lined basket of flamboyant epiphyllum in
spring.
My planting, of course, will be carefully planned, but the plan will
not be obvious. The shaggy fishtail palm, _Caryota urens_, would
be placed in the perfect spot. The Mexican tree fern would look as
if it had lived there always. The bromeliad tree would seem to have
lived and died in my indoor jungle, and the plants rooted in its
branches would look as if they had planted themselves, as they do in
the tropics. Luscious-leaved philodendrons would climb and cover any
obvious walls. Vines would be trained to soften sharp corners and
provide some shade. In irregular beds I’d plant a natural arrangement
of upright flowering and foliage plants--begonias, fuchsias, oleander,
all kinds of aroids, a dwarf citrus or two. A walk might be edged with
the tiny, delicious Corsican mint, _Mantha requieni_.
In a warm, partly shaded area I’d go crazy with gesneriads--flaming
episcias covering the ground, tube-flowered aeschynanthus spilling down
from above, fiery-flowered columneas in all their glory. And yes, I’d
have African violets--not in pots, but in baskets, in strawberry jars,
or sunk in the soil.
If (when?) I have my greenhouse, there are some plants I wouldn’t
be without. Among vines--silver-leaved _Cissus striata_ with
its swinging curtain of stringy aerial roots; _Clerodendrum
thomosoniae_, its blue-green leaves smothered in red-hearted white
flowers in spring; _Passiflora coccinea_, the red passion flower,
for glamour. I’d hang baskets of the new soft-hued fuchsia hybrids, and
my favorite floriferous begonia, ‘Shippy’s Garland.’
For fragrance, I’d plant a jasmine, _Stephanotis floribunda_,
and _Osmanthus fragrans_, the precious olive. For early spring
refreshment, I’d force miniature and dwarf daffodils, bringing in
pots of them from the cold frame and sinking them in the soil. I’d
want the silky-soft foliage and royal-purple flowers of _Tibouchina
semidecandra_, the glory bush; but I’d pinch and prune it, to
keep it fairly low. I’d want a large basket floating airy fronds,
one of the davallias, or rabbit’s-foot ferns, and a smaller basket
for the variegated _Abutilon megapotamicum_, because I love its
gold-splashed leaves strung neatly along wiry stems, and its dangling
red-and-yellow lantern flowers.
Just one more thing to complete my dream. Near the door of my
dream-greenhouse garden, I’d have a special box for my guests, a box
filled with small plants from which they could choose a parting gift.
(I know if this greenhouse works out as I picture it, I shall have
guests. I shall be happy to see them come, and a bit wistful when they
leave. I will feel better if they take a small token of my gardening
with them as they go.)
Frankly, this idea of a dream greenhouse came upon me quite casually.
Much as we love our home here in Redding, Connecticut, we discovered
a place which we felt we would like even better--a manor sort of
place with stables, pools, formal gardens, a very charming old house,
and seemingly endless rock walls. My husband and I fell in love with
it--he, I think, because of a quarter-mile of trout streams, I, because
it had a most charming greenhouse, the one I have been dreaming about.
At this writing the entire project is still very much in the future,
but we have hopes.
To be reluctantly honest, my greenhouse garden is not a brand-new
idea. Mammoth conservatories are often planted as gardens, and so
are the “plant rooms” now built into the more luxurious contemporary
homes. Both are often show places, with plants brought in for display
at the peak of their flowering beauty and, as they begin to fade,
returned to spend the rest of the year in more utilitarian growing
quarters. My garden would be a year-round project, the plants allowed
to live through their natural cycles of active growth and rest without
disturbance. We follow this procedure out of doors when we plant
annuals over the spring-flowering bulbs; why not indoors, too?
[Illustration:
Tropical garden in early stages with room for creeping ground
cover and growing trees.]
And, of course, there must be many hobby greenhouses already planted as
gardens. I saw one near Boston, a fairly large one set into the side of
a steep hill. It was a perfect piece of a desert, with the soil made
suitably sandy and the curious cacti and other succulents growing as
naturally as though they had never left home. Mrs. Ernesta Ballard has
a small tropical greenhouse so realistically planted you feel as if
you are in an exotic jungle the minute you step inside the door. But
both of these places lack one important asset--room for the rocking
chair and the radio with its soft music, things I hope I won’t have to
be without.
[Illustration:
A miniature garden in a glass-covered terrarium]
This complete greenhouse garden may not appeal to you, or it may not
be practical or possible. In that case, I urge you to try a smaller
naturalistic planting of some sort, if only to get that “garden
feeling” and see how happy it makes your plants.
As a substitute for that Boston desert garden, I filled a small section
of one of our greenhouse benches with a suitable soil mixture and
planted it with small cacti and other colorful succulents, with here
and there an interesting rock or two. These plants never flowered so
freely when confined in pots, never showed off to such advantage. But
I made one big mistake. I failed to make allowance for the more lusty
growth, and planted the garden much too thickly. In just a few months
the garden looked not the least like a sparse and frugal desert, but
more like a menagerie of scrambling, hoydenish pets.
[Illustration:
Dream greenhouse, delightful and enchanting]
Another garden that is not quite so wild and reckless is planted
around a small pool under a greenhouse bench. The pool is actually a
large plastic basin that must be emptied and cleaned with fastidious
regularity. It would be better, of course, dug out and cement-lined,
with a drainage pipe at the bottom. The plants are tropical, because
they are in the warmth near the heating pipes; shade-loving, because
a bench (even though it is slatted and admits some light) is above
them. This is an excellent place for ferns, upright or climbing foliage
plants, soft ground covers like selaginella. If I were to install
fluorescent lights, I could add a number of flowering varieties.
[Illustration: A fancy to build on in the Oriental manner]
[Illustration:
The author’s succulent garden]
A soil-filled bench is the site of my husband’s pet project, a grove
of miniature fruit trees. There always seem to be flowers or fruits on
the small orange, lemon, kumquat, and pomegranate trees. But again,
we erred. We did not realize how vigorously these trees would respond
to having their roots free in soil. The dwarf banana and ever-bearing
fig now threaten to exceed dwarf proportions at any moment, even to go
through the roof.
[Illustration:
Rampant greenhouse with citrus trees, banana tree, and birch
trunk covered with bromeliads]
A naturalistic planting that occupies a minimum of bench space is a
bromeliad tree fitted with a sturdy stand to hold it upright. (The
stand we are using actually is a Christmas-tree stand.) For the tree
itself, we selected the top of a birch tree which blew over in the
woods behind our garage. The tropical green contrasts nicely with the
white bark of the birch, otherwise our selection wasn’t too wise. Birch
wood is soft and doesn’t last too long, hence we have been propping
and wiring branches to keep them in place. Cracks, crotches, and
pockets created for the purpose are packed with osmunda fiber tightly
wrapped around the base of all kinds of brilliant bromeliads, some few
orchids, a staghorn fern, and other epiphytic plants. The plants need
not even be rooted if the osmunda is packed tightly around the base; if
they’re wired in place so tightly that the spray from the hose can’t
loosen them, they’ll soon be at home on the tree. Their roots will
grow through the osmunda and they will attach themselves to the tree.
Of course, the osmunda must be kept moist until the roots form. Once
rooted they are fed by dusting the outside of the sphagnum with soluble
fertilizer and watering it in. As a finishing touch, we threw strands
of Spanish moss over the branches. The misty-gray moss thrives, and
even flowers.
As further proof that many plants prefer freedom to being confined
in pots, try planting just one creeper--an episcia, for example--in
the center of a spot filled with suitable soil. See how soon it will
garland the top with lush foliage, how freely it flowers. Many plants
recommended for hanging baskets are really creepers and are better off
when treated this way.
PLANTING AND CARE
Large or small, a greenhouse garden, like any other, should be designed
carefully and never planted until you have the plan firmly in mind.
Each plant should be given room in relation to all the others, and
not merely at planting time but with maturity time in mind. Allow
plenty of space for spreaders to spread and creepers to creep; and
make sure every climber has its support. And, of course, plants in
close proximity should have compatible cultural preferences in soil,
moisture, light, and the like.
_Light and Sunlight_
It shouldn’t be difficult, in a complete greenhouse garden, to arrange
for areas of full sunlight, partial or dappled sun, and shade, and to
do it in a natural manner. Tall plants will get the sun first and for
the longest time; but you could also build a slope, a sand dune, or a
rock garden that would face the sun and get the most of it. Partial-sun
plants could be placed where they are only lightly shaded by other
plants or, if necessary, by shadings on the sections of glass above
them. Shade-loving plants can grow under small trees and bushes.
Almost any greenhouse, in any area, should have shading applied to
the glass in early summer. Several shading compounds are available, in
white or green, and are mixed and applied with either a wide brush or
a sprayer. These compounds are constituted so that they slowly weather
away during the summer and leave the glass clear by autumn. But if you
happen to have plants that need all of the winter sun possible, it is
wise also to clean the glass.
_Temperature_
Greenhouses are generally classed as cool (40–60 degrees), moderate
(50–70 degrees), or warm (60–80 degrees). This refers to the minimum
night temperatures at which the thermostat is set to regulate the
furnace or heater. In warm climates where an air-conditioner is used,
it follows the same scale. Greenhouse plants are usually classified
similarly. But if other cultural conditions are favorable, many plants
will tolerate a much wider range.
In order to grow the widest variety of plants, I set my greenhouse
thermostat at 60 degrees in winter. This is a little warm for some
cool-growing items such as geraniums, and causes outdoor garden plants
(annuals, perennials, and vegetables started from seed) to grow
slightly leggy and lank. But they recuperate in a hurry when they
are moved outside. This temperature is slightly cool for subtropical
plants; some gesneriads merely hold their own through the winter,
neither growing nor flowering; some extremely tender begonias are
forced into dormancy, from which they awaken in warm spring weather.
_Humidity and Ventilation_
With such a motley assortment of plants, I try to keep relative
humidity at 75 per cent or higher. The minute the gauge dips below that
mark, we wet down the walks and benches. Of course, this happens only
on bright, sunny days. During dark, gloomy weather we water and mist as
little as possible.
Constant circulation of fresh air is extremely important all year long.
Our doors and vents are wide open in summer. On quiet winter days
we may open doors or vents just a crack for a short time. Automatic
ventilation is a marvelous convenience in late winter and early spring
when the sun suddenly seems to get very hot and threatens to scorch
everything under the glass.
_Soil_
Whether a greenhouse garden is a small flat, part of a bench, or a
large ground bed, soil should be prepared carefully to suit the kind
of plant that will grow in it. You’ll find “recipes” of all kinds in
any authoritative greenhouse garden book. Prepared soil mixtures should
be at least a foot deep for beds in which you plan to grow plants of
moderate size. For fruit trees and other larger plants, make it even
deeper.
_Fertilizing_
The fertilizing schedule which works so well for my house plants,
seems to do equally well for my greenhouse plants. I shall stay with
it until I find something better. But it does seem possible that a
large greenhouse garden, with large areas of carefully prepared and
nutritious soil, would probably need feeding slightly less frequently
than plants in pots. I shall have to try this, when my dream greenhouse
comes true.
_Watering_
One of the “musts” in my dream greenhouse will be both hot and cold
water, and a provision for mixing them as they flow into the hose.
Thus, watering will be like a gentle summer rain. I’ll have an
extra-fine nozzle to break the stream into a delicate mist. Warmed
water in a fine spray surely should not injure tender foliage in
any way. And think what fun it would be to water a garden this way,
enjoying the slightly musty fragrance of a warm summer night when soil
is moistened by rain--and all of this in January when the snow is piled
deep in drifts and banks outside the house.
_Grooming_
These are the little everyday pleasures of gardening in a
greenhouse--snipping back a wandering branch, chiding a creeper and
pulling it back from crawling over a neighbor, picking off a faded
flower, supporting a branch heavily laden with flowers or fruit. It
is real fun, and makes the difference between an overgrown mass and a
carefully tended garden in which each plant appears at its best and
in harmony with the others. Cleanliness--the removal of all organic
matter before it rots, the rinsing away of dust and dirt--is the best
protective measure against infiltration of insects and disease.
_Insects and Disease_
When my retirement time comes, I may have to make a choice. Which do
I want most--the convenience of fumigation with greenhouse “bombs,”
or the presence of pet frogs, ladybugs, friendly insects, chameleons,
and the like among my greenery? I am sure I will choose the latter,
because I will have plenty of time to tend my greenhouse garden; and
it’s not too much trouble to “spot spray” any plant that shows signs of
problems. Anyway, it’s risky to use strong fumigants in a greenhouse
that is attached to a dwelling, unless it is tightly closed in and
has no cracks or fissures for leakage. And who could be sure of that.
Anyhow, if I killed all the insects, what would the frogs find to eat.
GREENHOUSE PROPAGATING
Actually, I have two propagating cases in our large greenhouse. One is
completely enclosed in plastic to keep the humid air even more humid.
It has three or four inches of perlite on top of an electric coil to
give it gentle bottom heat. The cuttings are inserted in rows so they
are easier to manage and remove when their time comes. Here I root all
cuttings from delicate plants and those with large leaves that need
high humidity to keep from wilting and drying while roots are forming.
My little plastic boxes of difficult seeds are also set there, where
they will keep warm and protected.
The second propagating box is wide open--merely an extra-large flat
filled with sharp sand. Here I root the more rugged, or succulent,
plants, such as cacti, geraniums, semperflorens begonias, and
anything that may rot if kept too moist. Indeed, the sand may dry out
occasionally, but they don’t seem to mind. Both cases are shaded by
some old bamboo blinds.
(_All of the window-garden plants listed in Chapter 6 do very well in
greenhouses. See also the forced bulbs in Chapter 13._)
_CHAPTER 6_
MINIATURE HOUSE AND GREENHOUSE PLANTS
My gardening friends certainly vary as to ability, inclination, talent,
and aptitude. At one extreme there is Aunt Minnie, whose green thumb
injects magic into every pot and for whom every plant grows to buxom,
blooming perfection. At the other end of the scale there is the poor
soul who tries so hard but can’t keep a plant alive no matter what she
does. Why do some plant-lovers never fail, while others never seem to
win? There are a number of reasons, including a difference in growing
conditions, variations in the types of plants, and even the amount of
practical experience or common sense Aunt Minnie is blessed with.
The truth is that there is no single, incontrovertible secret to
success, but rather a combination of many factors of equal, or nearly
equal, importance. The best soil in the world won’t make plants flower
unless temperature and sunlight are right. The frequency with which
you water plants should be affected by indoor temperature, humidity,
and pot size. And don’t think it is Aunt Minnie’s favorite brand of
fertilizer alone that keep her plants in good health.
In our house, and in countless others, it is not possible to make
growing conditions as perfect as a plant might wish; but we try to come
as close as we can, and find most plants are willing and able to make
concessions. One more thing we do. We learn all about each plant’s
natural home--desert, steamy jungle, Mexican mountainside--so we’ll
know what combination of conditions it likes best.
CARE OF HOUSE AND GREENHOUSE PLANTS
_Light and Sunlight_
Plants need daylight to make energy; they can’t grow without it, or its
equivalent in artificial light. They need some sunlight to set buds,
and can’t flower without it or a substitute. Intensity and duration of
light should vary according to each plant’s preferences.
No plant of ours is left to waste its life away on the fireplace
mantel, where the light is too dim to read the printing on a book
of matches. Granted, we might set it there for a day or so as a
decoration, but we would return it to its bright window sill before it
began to stretch out weakly in search of light. These are the signs
of insufficient light--weak, lopsided growth; leaves that feel limp
and look pale; new leaves, if any, growing progressively smaller and
smaller; long leaf stems and long internodes.
Our window greenhouse, which faces south, is reserved for flowering
plants that need all the light and sun we can give them, particularly
in winter. This is Connecticut, remember; the winter sun seldom
gets very hot or stays bright very long. And there are days on end
when the sun simply does not show its face. California’s “shade
plants”--begonias and fuchsias, for example--require full sun during a
Northern winter.
For plants that are not quite so greedy for sunshine, we have the
east-facing playroom picture window, which is lightly shaded by a
high-branched deciduous tree in summer. For foliage plants, and a few
others that will thrive on little or no sun, there are several other
windows around the house where there is plentiful daylight, but the sun
is seldom seen.
Your situation may be entirely different--perhaps a glassed-in
porch that’s brighter than our window sills ever will be; or a
contemporary-style glassed-in entry that lets sun stream in all winter
long. Keep in mind that various plants have varying needs for light and
sunlight; and the only sun that benefits a plant is that which falls
directly on it. A south window may actually be shady in summer, and
this is truer the farther south you go.
_Temperature_
Some plants grow their healthiest when the thermometer reads 50 to 55
degrees at night and 5 to 10 degrees higher during the day; some tender
tropical _émigrés_ suffer a chill when the mercury dips under 60
degrees at night. But the greatest number will tolerate a fairly wide
range, and are quite content with whatever the house has to offer. This
again assumes that other conditions, such as humidity, are kept up to
the plants’ requirements.
Temperature tolerances are directly affected by the humidity in the
air. Many plants will accept a temperature that is higher than average
if the air is moist. Some will accept a temperature that is below
average if the air is not too moist. In air that’s too hot and dry,
leaf edges will often turn brown and crisp; when it is too cool, a
plant may stop growing temporarily; when it is both too cool and too
moist, there may be danger of rot. Don’t trust the thermostat that
governs your house heating system to tell you whether the temperature
is right for a plant; measure it on the very spot where the plant is
growing.
_Humidity_
This is often a more crucial factor than temperature, and one that
is more troublesome to change. Relative humidity is a measure of the
amount of moisture in the air as compared with the maximum amount of
moisture the air can hold at a given temperature. It is expressed in
percentage figures.
Most plants find it difficult to breathe in dry air; they need some
moisture around, on, and in their leaves. (People are better off when
they have it, too.) Alone, or teamed up with unsuitable temperature,
low humidity can cause leaves to wither, buds to drop before they open,
and even an invasion of mites or some other pest.
A humidity gauge is not nearly so familiar a household item as a
thermometer, but it is equally useful, usually better looking, and not
much more costly. And it can come up with some eye-opening information.
The humidity gauge will tell you very quickly, for example, when an
air-conditioning system is missing its recommended mark of 50 per cent
relative humidity. It will stop you from overwatering in muggy weather.
It will show you that humidity can be dangerously low in the window
where your plants are growing, even though it is perfectly acceptable
three feet away. (Perhaps there is a radiator beneath the window.)
What you do to increase humidity depends on how low it is, and on what
type of plant you are growing. At our house we have three systems
for the humidity problem--the lazy, the halfway, and the necessary
nuisance. The lazy way works fine for dry-air-type plants such as most
cacti and other succulents. We simply grow them where the hot blasts
from the radiator are strongest. They don’t wither, and when on sunny
days we water them, we also mist them with a fine water spray. (For
an easy misting device, we have an old Windex bottle with a spraying
attachment in the cap. It does a fine job. Of course, there are other
commercial products with built-in sprayers. Perhaps you have one in
your kitchen.)