Honestly, I can’t see any reason why plants must be immortal, why they can’t refresh and beautify the home as long as they remain healthy and attractive, and not one minute longer, and then be discarded. I do object to stringy, leafless stems of expiring philodendron, dried-up dish gardens, or any plant or combination of plants that has become undecorative because it is dying. Actually, some florists’ plants, such as greenhouse primulas and calceolarias, are annuals that come into full bloom only once, and having had their big moment are supposed to die peacefully afterward.
Do I treat my plants in the house so very cruelly? Well, no ... not exactly. My budget includes no allotment for florists’ fripperies. I have a different system, and I have a constant supply of healthy plants to use for indoor decoration. My plants spend most of their lives in growing quarters where cultural conditions are good—in bright windows, in the window greenhouse, or on our small sun porch. They are brought in for a few days (never more than a week), then quickly returned to their more healthy, healthful homes. Having done their duty, they go back to grow and prosper. I do this with single potted plants, placed in attractive containers, with dish gardens, model landscapes, and combinations of plants. They are beautiful and charming as table centerpieces, mantel ornaments, displays for the coffee table, shadow box, or bookcase shelf.
PLANT-AND-CONTAINER COMPOSITIONS
In the past few years my preoccupation with miniature plants has led to some pleasurable rummaging and shopping for containers in which to place them to make compositions for a bedside or telephone table, for the narrow window sill above the kitchen sink, and for the small bric-a-brac shelf in the foyer.
As any flower-arrangement artist knows, small-scale compositions are often more intricate and more difficult than full-scale affairs—every detail is subject to separate scrutiny. However, patience, good taste, and an artistic flair will unite a plant and a container with an affinity that looks casual, even accidental, but actually is cunningly contrived. Container and plant become one picture—neither outshining the other—the container setting off the plant, and not sacrificing its own importance.
People who are intrigued with these miniature compositions usually collect containers in wide variety. Some of them are even made for the express purpose of holding plants—from wood, bronze, copper, all sorts of chinaware, glass, and ceramics. But the containers that give the most fun are those made for entirely different purposes. I’ve seen tiny bird cages, little woven baskets, glass lamp shades, odd-ball ash trays, punch cups, unusual tea or coffee cups, soup tureens, and even an ancient Buick hub cap which a little girl “borrowed” from her father’s collection of automobile antiquities. Some gourds are just the right size and shape, and with a nice wartiness, to lend enchantment for growing plants. Our cat keeps us well supplied with the tins in which his food is sold—spray them with paint and they are ideal for many plants. Some cocktail or champagne crystal looks precious with miniature vines drooping over the side.
Strawberry jar resembling gnome, planted with Kenilworth ivy
Once for our P.T.A. fair I collected a dozen or so unmatched liquor glasses, put a half-inch of soil in the bottoms, and planted tiny Sinningia pusilla. They sold immediately, with people wanting more. A plant sale at such an affair is a rather convincing test of popularity, and whether you have created a good arrangement.
Another favorite I have discovered for unusual containers is Cymbalaria muralis, the nostalgic Kenilworth ivy. I planted some in a small strawberry jar. Look at the jar from the right angle and it resembles a round-cheeked dwarf with a sparse green wig. I wish I could remember where I bought that jar—so many friends have wanted one. The “pawnbroker’s” planter cost five cents in a local junk shop. I also planted it with ivy.