Although
the coldest part of winter is just arriving, we have passed the period with the
lowest availability – and angle – of natural light. For your indoor garden,
better days are coming!
House
plants typically take a beating in the winter: low light, too much heat and dry
air, too much standing water on their roots – almost a guarantee that something
nasty will happen.
I was
reminded of this when I found fluffy white clumps on a cute little striped
aloe. It looked like a cottony scale, so my first thought was to spray with
insecticidal soap and put it out in my very chilly sun room, where the insect
would be at a disadvantage, but the plant would live. My second thought was,
how dumb can one person be? That’s where my orchids and lemon trees winter –
they really don’t need a dose of scale. So the aloe ended up in the compost
bin.
Then, I
checked another window-full of house plants, and found the culprit – the adorable
topiary rosemary (the $10 one with crappy lights that blinked three times and
died) that came from a big box store before Christmas! And
there were the telltale fluffy clumps – just much harder to see on a silvery
gray needled plant than on a smooth-leaved aloe. That went into the compost, too.
Does
that strike you as ruthless, or perhaps extravagant? There is a back story. My friend
Catriona has a house with lots of floor-to-ceiling windows. She is also a
sucker for exotic plants. A co-worker who knew of my passion for plants told me
his mother needed to get rid of an overgrown gardenia – she could no longer lug
it in and out of the house with the seasons.
I
thought at once of Catriona’s wonderful light, and hastily arranged the
adoption papers. Catriona and her husband were a little surprised when a pickup
truck arrived with a sinister, tarp-covered figure looming in the back. It
looked as if someone had smuggled the "David" out of the Uffizi.
So I
became the godmother of a hulking gardenia, and Catriona’s husband never
forgave me. Otherwise, all was well, since the gardenia grew and grew, happily
adapting to being rolled out from the dining room to the deck every year.
Then came the fateful year when another party
– who must remain nameless – gave Catriona an infested topiary rosemary for
Christmas. In a few weeks, the gardenia (now christened Grizabella) was
polka-dotted with white fuzzy clumps. Catriona ditched the typhoid rosemary but
tried to save the gardenia by dabbing the fuzzy clumps with a Q-tip dipped in
rubbing alcohol. This had no effect except for making her late for work – daily.
The gardenia now being much taller than Catriona, there was also some risk she
might tumble in and never be seen again.
Finally,
Catriona complained to her plant’s godmother/arborist, who did a little
research and found that a systemic pesticide tailored to scale had just come on
the market. So, with a few sprinkles of the most expensive pesticide known to
man, we resolved the cottony scale infestation.
Is there
a moral to this story? Perhaps it’s a tale of risk versus reward. All
pesticides carry a risk to the environment. I won’t use anything stronger than
soap or vinegar around my cats. If a plant is rare, large or valuable, I might
isolate it and try to treat it. But, if I can easily get another – or have ten
of them already – I would rather cut my losses and dispose of the plant along
with its disease or critters.
Anyway,
this is a good time to examine your plants closely: lack of sunlight,
especially, can make a plant very susceptible to whatever is “going around” –
much as we catch the flu when our reserves are low. As for Grizabella, she is
getting ready to cover herself in fragrant blossoms again.
How nice to have a garden column in winter, especially one so gracefully written. I liked the simile, "It looked as if someone had smuggled the 'David' out of the Uffizi." How does one pronounce "Catriona"? Same as "Katrina"?
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