PlantsWise

Everyone wants to look like a hero. We all try to leap tall buildings with a single bound. That’s one reason why I love Begonia sizemoreae. Grow this species from Vietnam, and everyone will assume you’re superhuman. They’ll take one look at this begonia and think your thumb glows green.

It looks finicky. It appears to be a problem child. Truth of the matter is = this is one of the easiest begonias to please. No sweat whatsoever. Not even a bead of perspiration broke on my forehead throughout my two year love affair with this little number.

One reason why I even gave this persnickety-looking species a try is because it’s in the rhizomatous group. I veer away from rex begonias. Avoid ’em like the plague. I don’t need that sort of angst and neither do you. I don’t care how gorgeous they happen to be — nothing’s pretty about a plant plagued by powdery mildew.

Rhizomatous begonias are much easier to entertain in the average home (not that anything about me is normal, but still…). And the diversity of this group is outlandish. Talk about textures — rhizomatous begonias go the gamut.

So, side by side against a bunch of darn good-looking plants, B. sizemoreae happens to be one of the most handsome. Who wouldn’t fall for this lovely thing with wall-to-wall whiskers and bands in different shades of green? I found it at Lauray of Salisbury (www.lauray.com), we eloped (just kidding — our union had Judy Becker’s blessing), and it’s been slowly (very slowly, very very very slowly) adding leaves. This year, mine sent up sparkling pink flowers in midwinter. Although it looks like the sort of plant that needs warm temperatures and high humidity, not so. In fact, mine is pregnant. If I can do it, so can you.

My advice would be not to overwater. And don’t make it swim in a large container — mine wears tight shoes. Indirect sun works best, but there have been times when unbridled sunbeams fell on its windowsill with no harm done. And rather than soilless mix (don’t get me started on why soilless mix is misguided), give it a potting medium with some oomph — I grow organically in a mix with compost included. But really, what looks like Mission Impossible is really a cakewalk. However, don’t tell all your admirers that victory was a snap. Let them worship…

The only good thing that can be said about winter (just for the record: I’m not a skier and I don’t have a garage) is that it hasn’t been as brutal as usual. Yet. But if you’re reduced to tallying the survivable aspects of a season — that’s saying something right there. And at the top of the short list of things that get us through the dark ages — there’s ‘Crystal Palace Gem’.

I like relics. Okay, I don’t fall for something just because it’s been around forever — it should have some other redeemable qualities. But I’ve always been fond of old things (I won’t mention names). And in that category of the plant world, Pelargonium ‘Crystal Palace Gem’ certainly qualifies.

Introduced in 1869 during the heat of the fancy-leaf geranium craze, it rode the crest right along with the tricolors ‘Happy Thought’ (1877) and ‘Mrs. Henry Cox’ (1879). And the fact that it survived is a testimony to its fortitude. It also says a lot about this plant’s charms. Think about how rapidly trends come and go in the gardening world (or in the fashion or entertainment world, for that matter). And then count up the cultivars with staying power. Bet you haven’t used up the fingers on one hand yet.

There’s a lot to love with ‘Crystal Palace Gem’. On mine, some leaves revert to a golden pea green. But the standard is irregularly striped leaves with green and chartreuse marbling. And furthermore, those leaves are neatly stacked on a shapely plant, even in low light. (That said, given its druthers, it would prefer a bright east, west, or south window.) And have I ever seen this plant wilt? No. Has it ever complained? Or come down with mealybugs? Never. But right about now, it’s those shocking red flowers that get me through the doldrums.

Try. Just try to walk by this plant in January with your typical winter scowl in place. Can’t be done. You’ll be humming Tiptoe through the Tulips in no time. Tiny Tim, we miss you.

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This could change your life. You snicker. We’re talking houseplants, after all, not Occupy Wall Street. But doesn’t it really all start at home? And aren’t you sick to death of the same old, same old houseplants. Well, here’s liberation. Here’s where you get garden nostalgia brought inside in the middle of the winter. Folks in Florida — you can stop reading right here.

Why not entertain your favorite outdoor gang inside when you need their company most? Not everything translates, but some plants make the leap indoors without a whimper. For example, how about blue fescue? I thought this was my own little lightbulb. I thought it was my personal secret weapon against the winter blahs. But then James Baggett — innovative gardener par excellence and all-around cobweb-buster — was boasting the other day that he had the world’s best idea for a houseplant. You guessed it. He was hosting ‘Elijah Blue’ in his home also.

Okay, so it doesn’t do much. Don’t expect cartwheels. Frisbee-sized flowers are not in your future. But then, what’s the fescue’s role outside? Swank, sharp tufts of electric blue color to give you a small dose of feel good. And when do we crave feel good desperately, I ask you? Now.

What does it need? Not much. East or west window does it. If you had south, it would be ecstatic. I don’t bother fertilizing it over the winter, but I do give my fescue a deep pot because its drinking habit is along the lines of all other ornamental grasses. Besides thirst, it’s a no-brainer, and I’m not the only one who thinks so.

For this post, I interviewed my Furry Associate on the subject. Einstein had some strong opinions (what else is new?). He has embraced this plant since kittenhood. In a house filled with plants, the purrrfessor has limited access. If he wants to avoid histrionics (that’s my department), he steers clear of most of the greenery. We’ve had words about his begonia-mauling fest. The deal is that the cat grass, the acorus, and the fescue are his territory. No questions asked. So he gets into the fescue. Literally. (ouch) As a result, the Festuca glauca ‘Elijah Blue’ usually looks like the hairdresser from hell has been at work. But who doesn’t love a tussled houseplant? As long as it’s not an orchid…
And it’s Einstein to the Fescue!

“Oh, just take it,” the nursery manager grumbled, clearly disgruntled that I walked right past his greenhouse packed with poinsettias without a second glance (there’s no accounting for taste) and opted instead for this leftover flowering kale. “I could pay for it…,” I offered. But he waved me aside.

So there I was with my prize Kale ‘White Peacock’ in the car, feeling like I just robbed Fort Knox and ready to make merry. I thought the kale would just be a holiday fling. But now I’m wondering how I can ever live without this little lovely again. Stunningly weird close up (you be the judge). Sufficiently intricate to hold your attention over the long nights of winter. Requires almost no care. Although I had little faith that the kale would perform as a houseplant over the long haul, it’s been a source of constant delight. Fooled me.

That’s what houseplants are all about, in my opinion. Forget the poinsettias. Seriously. They whine, they pout, they do all the things that would put them permanently on Santa’s “not” list. They’ll give you nothing but heartbreak. On the other hand, something like a flowering kale is the breakout scene stealer. Can’t keep my eyes off it.

And how many times have you walked by a kale outside in autumn without giving it more than a nod of recognition? In a container at your elbow, this ugly duckling reaches swan status. No lifting a finger on your part necessary. Mine dropped a few leaves when I came back from holiday visits and found its soil bone dry. Big deal. Watering it regularly is a better idea, needless to say. But it doesn’t hand out demerits. We like plants that don’t feel the need to punish us.

Of course, what are the chances that I’ll find another freebie next year? And the nurseryman with the limited patience for shoppers who snub his poinsettias is not likely to make the same mistake twice and grow a superabundance of ‘White Peacock’s. He’s no fool. There will be no leftovers for me next year, I bet. But I’ve got a plan (I’ve always got a scheme): I’ll buy a few flowering kales for the front porch in autumn and bring them in last minute for a white Christmas. Hoping all your holidays were equally bright…