MAKING DO
As I participate in the belt tightening that everyone is doing right now, one phrase comes back to my mind again and again–“use what you have.”
I would like to do that. I need to do that. The problem is that in order to use what I have, I have to organize what I have. That’s going to be a problem.
My garden paraphernalia resides in two places: the cellar and the garage. Both are in equal states of disarray. There are a thousand perfectly valid reasons why these areas are so uncivilized at the moment, but it all comes down to one reason–life happens. Now, however, I am going to tame what I have so that I can use it.
I started earlier this week by taking stock in the cellar. Heading towards my subterranean garden room, I armed myself with a large trash bag; knowing that some stuff–used up, worn out or junky to begin with–had to go. Weeding through the detritus, I began grouping similar objects together, discovering in the process that I have a lot of pots, including clay pots, ceramic pots, decorative pots and utilitarian pots. Every conceivable size is represented in my collection, from huge to two inches in diameter. Without even entering the garage, I knew that between the two locations, I have enough pots to start a nursery. By all rights I should never buy another pot and I should really start cutting up some of the flimsier plastic pots to use as ballast in the bottoms of larger pots. I thought about the feasibility of acquiring a servant to cut up the flimsy pots, and then I remembered my vow to use what I have. I don’t have a servant, so that idea won’t work. I found nearly-empty bags of vermiculite, seed starting mix and activated charcoal, and it occurred to me that if I combined them all I would have a free draining mix that would probably benefit some kind of houseplant. I deposited the three bags in one big box and moved on. I added the half empty sack of powdered rooting hormone to the box as well. Now I can root cuttings to my heart’s content, almost certainly increasing my usual survival rate from one percent to at least five percent. Of course powdered rooting hormone has been somewhat superseded by rooting gel, but before I buy any of that, I am committed to using my five year old bag of the powdered stuff.
I found at least twenty large and small containers of beach glass and interesting beach rocks, collected by my family on every summer vacation since my twenty year-old daughter was old enough to pick up a rock. Beach glass is wonderful; I use it to cover the soil of the potted plants. It also acts as an attractive mulch and discourages the cats from digging in the plant pots. I figure that the abundance of beach glass is a hedge against future shortages. Plastic has replaced glass in so many packaging applications that now negligent people are throwing plastic into bodies of water instead of glass. That doesn’t matter. I have enough beach glass to last about twenty years, and I will use and re-use what I have.
The rocks also make good mulch and some of them contain interesting fossils. Even though the supply of rocks will never abate–especially in my garden–it’s comforting to know that I can lay hands on imported extras any time I need them. The glass and rocks all went into another large container.
The garage was more of the same, with the expected hundred extra pots, plus eleven much-needed pot saucers. I also had one bag of pine mulch and half a bag of leftover composted cow manure. I put those where I can find them easily next spring. The garage is also home to my large collection of plant supports. Some of them are ornamental, but most of them are faded bamboo. They are unattractive but functional. I collected them all into one enormous plastic plant pot and gave thanks that since bamboo lasts for centuries, I will never have to buy another bamboo plant support.
In a corner of the garage I saw an old blue-glazed strawberry jar. It was a beauty in its day, but suffered some significant chips when it was left out during an unexpectedly cold November a few years ago. I could spray paint the chipped places to match the original blue, but I don’t happen to have any spray paint and I am restricting myself to using what I have. I decided that it would be better to plant the pot with an array of billowing herbs or coleus next summer. The plants will cover the chips and nobody will be the wiser.
A few years ago, I wandered into an antique shop in central New York State and purchased several attractively priced, large wire baskets, of a type which I call “egg baskets” despite the fact that the holes are big enough so that eggs would probably fall through them. Perhaps farmers’ wives lined the baskets with a towel or cloth before gathering eggs. Maybe they were intended for a different application. It’s equally possible that they these “antiques” were made in China five years ago. Whatever the back story, I grouped them together in one part of the garage. Next summer I will fill them with plants and use them as hanging baskets.
I still have more organizing to do, but for now I feel both thrifty and virtuous. In hard times you have to take your pleasures where you can find them–even if the only place you can find them is in the garage.