From The Old Farmer's Almanac.
Hits & Misses: Diamond frost euphorbia & fizzled flower power
Question of the Week: How often should a Christmas cactus be repotted?
The Business: Generating energy
I hate my aggregate concrete planters. And, no, it’s not their aesthetics that bother me. This is the kind of hate that goes much, much deeper. In fact, it’s a visceral response—mostly in the sense that my viscera are nearly torn apart each time I try to lift one of those damn things. To say they weigh at least 200 kg (500 lbs), is no exaggeration. To date, I have moved them across my yard and onto my deck a total of three times—with a fourth time impending if my wife has her way. I guess we will see, but if it’s up to me, any future transportation of aggregate will involve a pretreatment with a jackhammer.
Hits & Misses
Hit: ‘Diamond Frost’ Euphorbia
The ‘Diamond Frost’ euphorbia is a definite hit this holiday season. We’ve grown rings of them in several 8-inch pots and nestled a 6-inch poinsettia into the centre of each. The effect is really striking—so much so that the poinsettias seem to float in what looks like newly fallen snow. I don’t expect the supply of diamond frost euphorbia to last long, but it was our first time experimenting with them, and we’ll know to grow a bunch more next year.
Miss: Fizzled Flower Power
The ‘Alba’ begonias we’re growing as indoor plants produced an outstanding amount of lush green foliage but fizzled on flower power. In all fairness, I think that Alba would be an excellent spring plant, but with the low light levels of November, they tend to be a little too lanky. With all of the other colourful indoor plants competing for our customers’ attention, these begonias just didn’t stand a chance. Compost anyone?
Question of the Week
How often should a Christmas cactus be repotted?
A Christmas cactus has an extremely small root system, and can be grown in a very small pot for years; however, the soil in that pot should be freshened every few seasons.
Fortunately, repotting is very easy. Here’s how.
1. After the cactus finishes flowering, tip it out of the pot and shake off all the old soil.
2. Shake 3–4 cm of fresh soil mix into the bottom of a pot that’s preferably the same size as the original but, at most, 1 size larger,
3. Gently transplant the cactus into the container, ensuring that it’s at the same height as it was in the original pot.
4. Firm in the new soil and water thoroughly.
The Business
Generating Energy
I attended the Green Industry Trade Show in Edmonton this past week and listened to some interesting talks about the future of the industry. One seminar I found particularly fascinating was about the ways in which the Dutch are investigating the possibility of transforming greenhouses into net generators of energy. In one trial, space-age plastics that are transparent to light energy are being used on greenhouses. These plastics allow plants to utilize the light energy and they also trap a good portion of the remaining solar radiation, which can then be converted to electricity generation. Hmm…greenhouses as power suppliers… fascinating!
It’s exciting to think of the possibility of using greenhouses as net generators of energy. The impact on the industry would be enormous!
Trend Spotting
If you like a holiday colour scheme that shimmers, you’re in luck. Golden hues are everywhere this year, adding opulence to Christmas trees, stockings and wreaths. Used as an accent or as the main show, gold is this holiday’s trend-setter.
Did You Know?
When properly cared for, an amaryllis bulb may produce flowers for up to 75 years.
“Color is the language of the poets. It is astonishingly lovely. To speak it is a privilege.”
–Keith Crown
I've just finished reading Chris Garret's post "What to do when your blog plateaus" over at Darren Rowse's Problogger.
I don't like to admit that I've stalled or that my blog is becoming stale, but in my busyness of trying to complete my Garden Blog Directory update due to be released on 1 Dec, I sense that this ship is merely drifting. You don't believe me... check out my feed subscribers.
Now, I'm not after your compliments or reassurance that all is right with my world but what I am keen to hear is what needs to change to keep you - my down-right gorgeously, loyal readers - interested and coming back for more. And, while we're at it, what things turn you off about my blog.
How's the writing style? Content? Humour (or lack of it)? Photographs? Interaction? Helpful advice? Ya-da, ya-da!!!
For instance, one of my friends recently unsubscribed from my email feeds. I was devastated until I found out that the reason was because he couldn't read the font-size I was using. Just a few changes and it's all good again.
So, I want you to be as candid as you like. I've put on my heavy-duty, chain-mail suit to limit the flesh wounds, so anything you add will be taken constructively. Even if your smell-o-vision LCD screen is picking up on my halitosis, I want to know about it.
Two photos of the Christmas Cactus with the Red flower slowly unfurling. Usually I come back from being away to see it had already flowered, so im enjoying monitoring its progress. It has one other formed flower bud, but I hope it flowers more. It has travelled from Selby and flowered every year. This is the fourth year I think. It has also supplied some leaves for propogating another plant.Happy Thanksgiving.
Readers, please bear with me. Recently, I was asked “about the term, sense of place, what does it mean?” and last night I remembered having written this many years ago for a class on the Contemporary History of the American West. So here goes:
I love being from the West. I especially love that my part of the West is Idaho. I was born in Orofino, Idaho, part of the Nez Perce Indian Reservation, site of a gold rush, and by Canoe Camp of the Lewis and Clark expedition.
My great-grandparents homesteaded a one hundred and sixty acre wheat farm on the Palouse. It’s still in the family. My grandmother taught in a one-room schoolhouse. My maternal grandfather was a Swedish immigrant, logging on Gold Hill when he was 12 years old. My father was a logger and a rodeo cowboy. My step grandad was a logger and my other grandpa, the postmaster in Potlatch. I can make a cake with bear fat and comb my hair with a wagon wheel…..just kidding about the cake and wheel.
Being an Idaho native and daughter of the West is a great part of who I am. I let it define me in all the best ways whenever it suits me: bold, romantic, beautiful, daring, ever-changing. The West’s finest attributes I claim as my own. And, with a certain amount of swagger inherited from the men in my family, I often lay claim to some of the rougher parts of being a Westerner: I can drive a truck, drink most people under the table and swear like a logger. I used to be able to do it all at one time.
I believe being a Westerner makes you strong. It especially makes women strong. Some of my most cherished women friends, the one’s from the West, are the strongest women I know. They can cook for roundup or forest-fire camp, ride for roundup, pull a calf, barrel race their horse as rodeo queen and yodel. Lord, I wish I could yodel.
My sense of belonging to this state runs deep. I have friends here from kindergarten. People in my hometown still know me by name. I’ve met all of the governors in office since I was a little girl. I have pressed and cataloged all the wildflowers of my county. My family members are buried here or their ashes scattered in the Idaho countryside. I love the trillium of spring, thimbleberries of summer and old forgotten homestead apples in autumn.
The most beautiful weather in the world is in Idaho. Once, I had to stop the car and catch my breath at the top of the Camas Prairie at Grangeville. The sky was violet-black and the wheat fields blazing gold, just before a thunderstorm. The wind caused ripples in the fields. Sun, rain, hail and snow, all in 15 minutes.
I have lived in San Francisco and near Washington DC and witnessed what Wallace Stegner called the stormy physical and intellectual weather of both coasts. And though I love having seen how the other half lives, I will always call Idaho and the American West my home. I have entertained the notion of moving to Montana or Oregon, both very Western. But it isn’t the same sense of place. I won’t be leaving. I can’t image not being able to say, “I live in Idaho… I was born here.”
Mary Ann Newcomer
April 5, 2001
(Note, I have another version of this that I hope they will use someday for my obit. Of course, I want to have the last word)
