The containers were barren repositories of dried up branches, windswept leaves and the occasional petrified cat poop. Most had been that way since the Snowpocalypse, aka Icemageddon, of 2021. There had been hope that something would spring forth from the roots, but it was false; aside from one lone sprout from a holly fern, everything died.
Was it hope that kept me from replanting last spring? Or was it the consumptive pandemic malaise that caused me to give those pots of dirt nothing more than a sideways glance as I passed them upon exiting and entering my home...most likely the latter. Maintaining the milkweed pot and half-heartedly planting a butterfly bush for the monarchs, and a cherry tomato plant for our salads on the back porch, was the extent of my gardening energy last year.
But not this season. I decided that hope springs eternal; my awkward green thumb and quest for knowledge were reignited by container gardening books. With list in hand, I headed for not one, but two nurseries in search of plants both known and new-to-me. After hours of shopping, I came home and spent another two hours refilling pots, fertilizing, and planting. Fingers crossed that my research pays off, and these green shoots stay upright and happy.
Plants purchased: Anthurium, Persian shield, English ivy, sansevieria, coleus, creeping jenny, lemon ball sedum, lamium, croton, dieffenbachia, aglaonema, unknown plant that looks like a twisted croton (it was on sale), rosemary, milkweed, salvia, cherry tomatoes, and sunpatiens.
Plants already owned: The butterfly bush seems to be coming back, as well as a pot of sedum my son planted years ago (the lemon balm will probably reappear in that container, too). I took a failing branch of indoor pothos and stuck it in the tall urn outside, hoping the roots will take and it will leaf out. The lone sprig of holly fern was transferred from the tall urn to a shorter one by the door. Not pictured: a small, sad tuft of monkey grass and a full-to-bursting pot of dark-green haworthia succulents that survived winter on the porch, undercover.
As of this morning, they were all still upright!
I love these terms: Snowpocalypse and Icemageddon! And oh, your woeful description of those barren pots...hope DOES spring eternal, and how perfect is that phrase to your particular task. The labors of your hands are just beautiful - they refresh the eyes and the heart as well. I, too, will be hoping that these plants will flourish. Side note - I've been struggling this week to keep up with commenting but the journey through your posts today has been so restorative - I am grateful for this, Chris.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Fran! It was therapeutic, planting again. And I get the difficulty commenting; I have to go back and catch up, myself.
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