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From the Archives
Archive for November, 2009
Review: What’s Wrong with My Plant? (And How Do I Fix It?)
What’s Wrong With My Plant? (And How Do I Fix It?) A Visual Guide to Easy Diagnosis and Organic Remedies
by David Deardorff and Kathryn Wadsworth
451 pages
Timber Press, December 2009
List Price: $24.95
If you’re wondering what’s tunneling into your apples, why your hydrangea won’t bloom, or what that fuzzy mold is that’s growing on your blackberries, this is the book for you. What’s Wrong With My Plant? incorporates an ingenious (and easy to use) flowchart system for diagnosing plant problems. The process for diagnosing plant problems with this book is very simple:
1. Determine which part of the plant is affected (blooms, fruits, stems and branches, etc.)
2. Flip to the coinciding chapter in part one of What’s Wrong With My Plant? and look for symptoms that are similar to what you’re seeing.
3. Answer the questions in the flow chart, which will lead you to a diagnosis.
4. Go to the page number provided to see a (very clear and helpful!) photo of the problem. If it matches what you’re seeing, you’re golden.
5. Flip to the page number provided in the flow chart to find an organic solution to your plant problem.
It really is that simple. I tested it out with a few problems I’ve had in my own garden, and, sure enough, the flowchart questions led me to the correct answer each and every time.
What I especially liked about this book was that the authors recognize that just because an option is “organic,” it doesn’t always mean it’s completely safe or fool-proof. When prescribing a treatment for your plant ailments, Deardorff and Wadsworth do a great job of informing their readers of the impact of that particular treatment. For instance, they note that pyrethrins are harmful to some mammals and kill ladybugs, and that neem should not be used near waterways. This is something that Jeff Gillman also accomplished in his book, The Truth About Organic Gardening, which I also highly recommend.
Any gardener would appreciate this book. It will definitely be put to good use for gardening seasons to come.
ITGO Rating:
4 out of 4 trowels
Disclaimer: I was provided with an advanced review copy of this book by the publisher with the understanding that the decision to review the book, and the contents of that review, were solely my own. This review encompasses my own opinion of the book, and has been influenced in no way by the publisher or the fact that they provided a copy for review.
1 comment
Thankful
I am thankful for so many things this Thanksgiving. First and foremost, I am thankful for my husband and children for all of the light, laughter, and love they bring to my life. As long as I have them, I have everything.
I’m thankful for a warm home, plenty of healthy food, clothing on our backs, and health care. And I wish everyone had the same.
I’m thankful for work that satisfies my curiosity as well as my bank account.
I’m thankful for making choices that went against the grain and seeing the wonderful impact they’ve had on our life.
I’m thankful for gardening, for books, music, and fresh baked bread. I’m thankful for cardinals in my apple tree and robins hopping through my vegetable garden. I’m thankful for the scent of my children’s hair and the sound of my husband’s laugh. These are the “little things” that make my life a joyful adventure, every day.
I’m thankful, finally, for the friends I’ve made through this blog. Knowing you were here, reading, commenting, and emailing, meant the world to me. Thank you!
1 comment
The Marigold Philosophy
I spent last weekend doing the last good garden clean up of the season. The weather was warm and sunny, there were still plenty of leaves for the kids to jump in, and I badly needed some fresh air and sunshine. We raked and shredded leaves, pulled out the last of the tomatoes, and mulched the vegetable garden beds for next year.
At the back corner of our house I grew several almost absurdly tall marigolds. They were supposed to be short French marigolds, but instead proved themselves to be very robust orange and yellow African marigolds (this happens sometimes when you trade seed. Luckily, I could never be accused of having an actual “plan” for my garden, so these things don’t bother me too much.) They were as tall as me by the end of the season, and their branches and blooms encroached on the nearby garden path, almost as if they were trying to reach out and trip us as we walked past.
The frost finally did the marigolds in, and I cut them down and sat, leaning up against our giant maple tree, cutting the woody stems into smaller pieces for the compost pile. As I did, the scent of marigold permeated my fingers, my clothes, and the very air around me. I remember someone once saying that if yellow had an aroma, surely the marigold would be it. I have to agree. Some can’t stand the scent of marigolds, but I find it oddly comforting. When I was a kid, my mom grew two plants: roses and marigolds. She had long beds of roses along two sides of our back yard, and our deck was always surrounded by orange marigolds. Whenever I smell a marigold, it takes me back to the summers of my childhood, sitting on the deck on my beach towel after getting out of the pool. I’d lay there in the sun (bad, very bad) reading Nancy Drew, and, later, cheesy romance novels with the scent of marigold hanging heavy in the heat and humidity. Maybe it’s strange (although less strange if you know much about me) but that is the most peaceful memory I have of my childhood and teenage years.
What I’m taking a long, circuitous time to say is that this is why gardening is such an integral part of my life. I don’t look at the garden as an aesthetic pursuit, and I’ll never be mistaken for a designer. My garden is made of memories, both the ones I’ve already lived and the ones I plan to make someday. How else could I bring together a fragmented past, a hectic present, and an extremely hopeful future?
My garden will never be a showpiece. Instead, it is a personal journal, cleverly disguised as a garden. Here, you see the marigolds I planted in memory of who I was; there, the lilacs that honor my daughters, the dogwood to honor my son. There’s the hydrangea my husband bought me after baby #1 was born, and the forsythias I moved after losing what would have been baby #3, a couple years before we were lucky enough to bring our third daughter into the world. The petunias that remind me of my sister, the daylilies that bring Grammy back to me. It’s all here, my soul laid bare for anyone to see.
This is why I make it a point to never judge someone else’s garden. This is why you’ll never hear me say that a plant is ugly or worthless, or that this plant should never go with that. It may be true that the person who planted them just doesn’t know what they’re doing. On the other hand, the combination of common orange daylilies and magenta petunias might speak to someone in a way none of us can imagine. To each his own. There is no right or wrong in the garden.
“In my garden there is a large place for sentiment. My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams. The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.” ~Abram L. Urban
15 comments
Mustard Seed Jewelry
I was talking to my mother-in-law over the weekend. Now, my mother-in-law is a lovely person, but, like me, she tends to veer off-topic. We were talking about health care reform, then doctors, then her kidney stone (which she saved — don’t ask), and then, logically enough, to mustard seed jewelry. She told me that all of her friends growing up wore mustard seeds, encased in glass or plastic, as necklaces. I had never heard of the tradition of wearing a mustard seed in an amulet around one’s neck, but, as always, was intrigued at the mere mention of the word “seed.”
So, I looked into it, and apparently this is where my heathen upbringing comes back to haunt me. Many of my readers are probably thinking, “you’re kidding. You didn’t know about the mustard seed?” Well, no. I didn’t.
The idea is that the mustard seed is a symbol of faith, as associated with this quote from The Bible:
“If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, nothing shall be impossible unto you.” — Matthew 17:20.
It’s a nice sentiment, and I can see why it was a trend among my mother-in-law and her cohorts. Growing up Polish in Detroit in the 50’s meant you were part of a thriving Catholic community. We won’t get into where that leaves my MIL and I in regard to religious discussions.
Personally, I think I’d rather plant the mustard seed instead.
Have you heard of this tradition? I’m wondering if it’s generational or if this is something that everyone who is raised in a religious household knows about. Just curious 