Taming the Monster

When I'd shifted enough pots on the back balcony to give me room to move, another space hogger confronted me. My wild asparagus.

I've blogged about his history a couple of times. He self-seeded in one of the containers (goodness knows how) and then stayed apparently dormant for several years, growing no more than four or five short fronds while the root system developed. Until one year he exploded.

Two years ago I'd had enough, turfed him out of his pot and cut back the roots. Radically. That held him for a year, but last year he was back in full swing and again quadrupled in size.

So I thought I'd try another tack. It was time to enrol him in the marines. Because what's the first thing that happens when you join the marines ?

You get a haircut.

Invasion of the Giants

Last year I posted to the effect that my wild asparagus was growing at a rate of knots. Had I but known. Look at it then ...

... and look at it now.

And the pictures don't even do justice to the change. The first photo is of the plant in an 8" pot. The second is of a tub 50" x 18" x 30", more or less. Nothing seems to keep it in check. I even replanted it in the corner just in front of the bedroom where nothing grows. I don't know why that corner's a problem - but I suspect there's not enough light for most plants, but it gets too hot for shade lovers. I can't even grow spider plants there - something else that I usually have no trouble getting to giant proportions.

But the wild asparagus flourished even there. Then I saw it was getting attacked by the plague of green caterpillars that we had (still have, come to that) this year. So I cheerfully transferred all the caterpillars which I found decimating my other plants, onto it. It hardly looks chewed.

So what do I do with it? I suppose after my recent post on the 20 foot agave, I shouldn't even bother about it. And I'm not the only one. I've been planning this post for about a month, but just after the Carnival closed the other day, La Gringa sent me a link to a post called Why do they have to get so big? on exactly the same theme. (I've always said that garden bloggers were telepathic.) And her stuff makes mine look like dwarf varieties. But then she's not gardening on a balcony ...

It does of course solve the problem of what to put in that corner. But if I leave it there, will it be invading the bedroom by this time next year? The only other solution which comes to mind is digging it up, splitting and repotting it, and giving it to people as Christmas presents. The ones I don't like, obviously.

IntraGalactic Plant Exchange

The plant in the photo is my wild asparagus. I found it growing in one of the containers a few years ago, and at first didn’t know what it was. So I stuck it in a pot to see what happened.

At first – absolutely nothing. For the first couple of years, the original four or five three-inch spikes just sat there looking boring and taking up space, so that last year I was on the point of throwing it out. And then it suddenly exploded and grew at a rate of knots. It’s still not the most interesting of plants, but I love the bright green of the leaves, and it’s very useful for providing foliage in vases of cut flowers.

Where did it come from? It must have just drifted in on the wind. Plants do seem to be fairly good at finding themselves new homes. Watching Star Trek : Deep Space Nine the other night I was amazed to see that Bromeliads are well established on the planet Bajor, at least 50 light years from Earth. In fact, one of the characters Vedek Bareil explained that he had studied to be a gardener, and that Bromeliads were his passion. Now how did they get there? I can take teletransportation and holodecks without blinking, but the idea that identical vegetation evolved on two such distant planets is stretching it too far. Seeds thrown into space after an asteroid impact and left to boldly go where no plant has gone before ? Unlikely. 50 light years is a long way without Warp Drive …

No, as any self-respecting Vulcan would tell you, such solutions are just illogical. I suspect that it’s the result of an Interplanetary Seed Sharing scheme, or something of the sort. If you were visiting Vulcan, Bajor or somewhere, wouldn’t you want to bring a few samples back? So next time someone knocks on your door and asks if they could take some seeds from your Schizanthus or cuttings from your Chrysanthemums, just look for the tell-tale signs. Pointy ears, odd ridges on the nose or forehead, attractive blotchy patterning around the hairline – you could be taking part in Intra-Galactic Plant Exchange.