As far as I am concerned, the first part of this chapter is a dream. It is such a precious dream I shouldn’t even publish it until it comes true. I am afraid I must confess that parts of it have already been published in Flower and Garden. I was so carried away with the idea I rushed it into print, just so I could tell the world about a dream. It is a dream I hope you will dream with me. The magazine has given me permission to repeat the article I wrote for them.

The whole thing started when I began to get bored with prissy rows of pots in my own greenhouse. It is a forty-by-twenty-foot house and really isn’t ours. (It belongs to a neighbor who used to use it for the chickens. The chickens didn’t like being dispossessed, but they adapted themselves to the horse barn, where they are much happier.) My dream picked up emphasis when I tried a few “potless gardens” with plant roots unconfined and running freely in the soil. I immediately saw how much happier the plants were and how much more naturally they throve. I am a working girl. I have but a few years to go on my retirement plan, and then I can retire. Hence, I dream about my own personal greenhouse. My dream greenhouse.

I picture it as an extension of our recreation room so I can look out through the large window to the glassed-in garden a dozen times a day, every day of the year. There will be a convenient door for the many times I’ll be lured away from my typewriter. Any moment I wish, I can step into my garden to watch a bud unfold, tuck a wandering tendril back around a support, breathe in the fresh, moist fragrance only a greenhouse has.

My garden will be tropical. I love it that way. You, my reader, may wish a desert planted with fabulous cacti, or perhaps a cooler garden for alpine and hardier plants. But I love the exotics; and I will plant each one where it will grow according to its natural whims. Please, no more neat rows of pots on benches. My creepers will be planted where they can clamber over the soil and an occasional rock or rotted log. Climbers will have some picturesque support on which to climb. Epiphytes will have trees to perch on; and the danglers, baskets to hang from.

There will be variations of light, from full sun to patches of dappled or deep shade. If I can manage it, somehow I’d like to have variations in temperature in the different parts of my dream greenhouse. Some plants like the vigor of a cool corner; others revel in tropical warmth. Then there is the matter of moisture. For dry-growing plants there would be rock gardens and raised beds; for moisture-lovers there would be sunken, humus-rich bogs.

But you can’t have a greenhouse, dream or otherwise, without having utilities, heating plant, water pipes, and potting places. Those I would conceal under the shade of flowering vines. I think I should allow myself the luxury of a stool—perhaps even a rocking chair—where I can sit down to pot or propagate my plants.

Of course, there would be a pool in my greenhouse garden, with a water lily to flower in it. Around the edge would be arranged rocks to make a home for friendly frogs, salamanders, and turtles. I would teach them to be so friendly I could take them to safe quarters when I had to spray or fumigate. Restful ferns would frame that pool. A fountain would make the musical sound of splashing water. Perhaps the overflow would run into a tiny, winding stream. I’ll have to ask Fred, our plumber, about that.

I don’t know much about birds, but I’d like to have a canary housed in a cage. He’d be there only when the vents were open. Otherwise he’d be free to fly. I might even have a parakeet for his company. I’d have a radio to play softly—only classical, gentle music. Nothing with brass—mostly violins and soft ones at that. No telephone—never. I’d have a bench for my guests—wrought iron very likely, since I think it would fit the décor, but the sort that is comfortable. Somehow, I’m going to have to figure out a way of labeling my plants so the labels will not show. Perhaps, we can do it electronically. As I have said, I would have a rocking chair, an old and battered one. And the grandchildren—this being a dream I can have grandchildren (our own youngsters are still young). There would be a curiosity corner for them where they could touch the mimosa and see it fold, watch a pitcher plant catch a fly, pick fluffy bolls of cotton, or dig a small peanut crop.

My garden will be full of surprises. Any day of the year a visitor will find something new—a miniature orchid flowering on the branch of the bromeliad tree; iridescent Selaginella uncinata stalking on stilt-roots under a dwarf banana; carved columns, old urns, pieces of ceramic art I expect to pick up in my travels. Here, perhaps an old tree trunk sunk naturally in the soil; there, a log half buried as it would be in the woods; and then some stepping stones, two or three at the most to entice guests to look down on a mound of oxalis in full flower; overhead, a moss-lined basket of flamboyant epiphyllum in spring.

My planting, of course, will be carefully planned, but the plan will not be obvious. The shaggy fishtail palm, Caryota urens, would be placed in the perfect spot. The Mexican tree fern would look as if it had lived there always. The bromeliad tree would seem to have lived and died in my indoor jungle, and the plants rooted in its branches would look as if they had planted themselves, as they do in the tropics. Luscious-leaved philodendrons would climb and cover any obvious walls. Vines would be trained to soften sharp corners and provide some shade. In irregular beds I’d plant a natural arrangement of upright flowering and foliage plants—begonias, fuchsias, oleander, all kinds of aroids, a dwarf citrus or two. A walk might be edged with the tiny, delicious Corsican mint, Mantha requieni.

In a warm, partly shaded area I’d go crazy with gesneriads—flaming episcias covering the ground, tube-flowered aeschynanthus spilling down from above, fiery-flowered columneas in all their glory. And yes, I’d have African violets—not in pots, but in baskets, in strawberry jars, or sunk in the soil.

If (when?) I have my greenhouse, there are some plants I wouldn’t be without. Among vines—silver-leaved Cissus striata with its swinging curtain of stringy aerial roots; Clerodendrum thomosoniae, its blue-green leaves smothered in red-hearted white flowers in spring; Passiflora coccinea, the red passion flower, for glamour. I’d hang baskets of the new soft-hued fuchsia hybrids, and my favorite floriferous begonia, ‘Shippy’s Garland.’

For fragrance, I’d plant a jasmine, Stephanotis floribunda, and Osmanthus fragrans, the precious olive. For early spring refreshment, I’d force miniature and dwarf daffodils, bringing in pots of them from the cold frame and sinking them in the soil. I’d want the silky-soft foliage and royal-purple flowers of Tibouchina semidecandra, the glory bush; but I’d pinch and prune it, to keep it fairly low. I’d want a large basket floating airy fronds, one of the davallias, or rabbit’s-foot ferns, and a smaller basket for the variegated Abutilon megapotamicum, because I love its gold-splashed leaves strung neatly along wiry stems, and its dangling red-and-yellow lantern flowers.

Just one more thing to complete my dream. Near the door of my dream-greenhouse garden, I’d have a special box for my guests, a box filled with small plants from which they could choose a parting gift. (I know if this greenhouse works out as I picture it, I shall have guests. I shall be happy to see them come, and a bit wistful when they leave. I will feel better if they take a small token of my gardening with them as they go.)

Frankly, this idea of a dream greenhouse came upon me quite casually. Much as we love our home here in Redding, Connecticut, we discovered a place which we felt we would like even better—a manor sort of place with stables, pools, formal gardens, a very charming old house, and seemingly endless rock walls. My husband and I fell in love with it—he, I think, because of a quarter-mile of trout streams, I, because it had a most charming greenhouse, the one I have been dreaming about. At this writing the entire project is still very much in the future, but we have hopes.

To be reluctantly honest, my greenhouse garden is not a brand-new idea. Mammoth conservatories are often planted as gardens, and so are the “plant rooms” now built into the more luxurious contemporary homes. Both are often show places, with plants brought in for display at the peak of their flowering beauty and, as they begin to fade, returned to spend the rest of the year in more utilitarian growing quarters. My garden would be a year-round project, the plants allowed to live through their natural cycles of active growth and rest without disturbance. We follow this procedure out of doors when we plant annuals over the spring-flowering bulbs; why not indoors, too?

And, of course, there must be many hobby greenhouses already planted as gardens. I saw one near Boston, a fairly large one set into the side of a steep hill. It was a perfect piece of a desert, with the soil made suitably sandy and the curious cacti and other succulents growing as naturally as though they had never left home. Mrs. Ernesta Ballard has a small tropical greenhouse so realistically planted you feel as if you are in an exotic jungle the minute you step inside the door. But both of these places lack one important asset—room for the rocking chair and the radio with its soft music, things I hope I won’t have to be without.

This complete greenhouse garden may not appeal to you, or it may not be practical or possible. In that case, I urge you to try a smaller naturalistic planting of some sort, if only to get that “garden feeling” and see how happy it makes your plants.

As a substitute for that Boston desert garden, I filled a small section of one of our greenhouse benches with a suitable soil mixture and planted it with small cacti and other colorful succulents, with here and there an interesting rock or two. These plants never flowered so freely when confined in pots, never showed off to such advantage. But I made one big mistake. I failed to make allowance for the more lusty growth, and planted the garden much too thickly. In just a few months the garden looked not the least like a sparse and frugal desert, but more like a menagerie of scrambling, hoydenish pets.

Another garden that is not quite so wild and reckless is planted around a small pool under a greenhouse bench. The pool is actually a large plastic basin that must be emptied and cleaned with fastidious regularity. It would be better, of course, dug out and cement-lined, with a drainage pipe at the bottom. The plants are tropical, because they are in the warmth near the heating pipes; shade-loving, because a bench (even though it is slatted and admits some light) is above them. This is an excellent place for ferns, upright or climbing foliage plants, soft ground covers like selaginella. If I were to install fluorescent lights, I could add a number of flowering varieties.

A soil-filled bench is the site of my husband’s pet project, a grove of miniature fruit trees. There always seem to be flowers or fruits on the small orange, lemon, kumquat, and pomegranate trees. But again, we erred. We did not realize how vigorously these trees would respond to having their roots free in soil. The dwarf banana and ever-bearing fig now threaten to exceed dwarf proportions at any moment, even to go through the roof.

A naturalistic planting that occupies a minimum of bench space is a bromeliad tree fitted with a sturdy stand to hold it upright. (The stand we are using actually is a Christmas-tree stand.) For the tree itself, we selected the top of a birch tree which blew over in the woods behind our garage. The tropical green contrasts nicely with the white bark of the birch, otherwise our selection wasn’t too wise. Birch wood is soft and doesn’t last too long, hence we have been propping and wiring branches to keep them in place. Cracks, crotches, and pockets created for the purpose are packed with osmunda fiber tightly wrapped around the base of all kinds of brilliant bromeliads, some few orchids, a staghorn fern, and other epiphytic plants. The plants need not even be rooted if the osmunda is packed tightly around the base; if they’re wired in place so tightly that the spray from the hose can’t loosen them, they’ll soon be at home on the tree. Their roots will grow through the osmunda and they will attach themselves to the tree. Of course, the osmunda must be kept moist until the roots form. Once rooted they are fed by dusting the outside of the sphagnum with soluble fertilizer and watering it in. As a finishing touch, we threw strands of Spanish moss over the branches. The misty-gray moss thrives, and even flowers.

As further proof that many plants prefer freedom to being confined in pots, try planting just one creeper—an episcia, for example—in the center of a spot filled with suitable soil. See how soon it will garland the top with lush foliage, how freely it flowers. Many plants recommended for hanging baskets are really creepers and are better off when treated this way.

PLANTING AND CARE

Large or small, a greenhouse garden, like any other, should be designed carefully and never planted until you have the plan firmly in mind. Each plant should be given room in relation to all the others, and not merely at planting time but with maturity time in mind. Allow plenty of space for spreaders to spread and creepers to creep; and make sure every climber has its support. And, of course, plants in close proximity should have compatible cultural preferences in soil, moisture, light, and the like.

Light and Sunlight

It shouldn’t be difficult, in a complete greenhouse garden, to arrange for areas of full sunlight, partial or dappled sun, and shade, and to do it in a natural manner. Tall plants will get the sun first and for the longest time; but you could also build a slope, a sand dune, or a rock garden that would face the sun and get the most of it. Partial-sun plants could be placed where they are only lightly shaded by other plants or, if necessary, by shadings on the sections of glass above them. Shade-loving plants can grow under small trees and bushes.

Almost any greenhouse, in any area, should have shading applied to the glass in early summer. Several shading compounds are available, in white or green, and are mixed and applied with either a wide brush or a sprayer. These compounds are constituted so that they slowly weather away during the summer and leave the glass clear by autumn. But if you happen to have plants that need all of the winter sun possible, it is wise also to clean the glass.

Temperature

Greenhouses are generally classed as cool (40–60 degrees), moderate (50–70 degrees), or warm (60–80 degrees). This refers to the minimum night temperatures at which the thermostat is set to regulate the furnace or heater. In warm climates where an air-conditioner is used, it follows the same scale. Greenhouse plants are usually classified similarly. But if other cultural conditions are favorable, many plants will tolerate a much wider range.

In order to grow the widest variety of plants, I set my greenhouse thermostat at 60 degrees in winter. This is a little warm for some cool-growing items such as geraniums, and causes outdoor garden plants (annuals, perennials, and vegetables started from seed) to grow slightly leggy and lank. But they recuperate in a hurry when they are moved outside. This temperature is slightly cool for subtropical plants; some gesneriads merely hold their own through the winter, neither growing nor flowering; some extremely tender begonias are forced into dormancy, from which they awaken in warm spring weather.

Humidity and Ventilation

With such a motley assortment of plants, I try to keep relative humidity at 75 per cent or higher. The minute the gauge dips below that mark, we wet down the walks and benches. Of course, this happens only on bright, sunny days. During dark, gloomy weather we water and mist as little as possible.

Constant circulation of fresh air is extremely important all year long. Our doors and vents are wide open in summer. On quiet winter days we may open doors or vents just a crack for a short time. Automatic ventilation is a marvelous convenience in late winter and early spring when the sun suddenly seems to get very hot and threatens to scorch everything under the glass.

Soil

Whether a greenhouse garden is a small flat, part of a bench, or a large ground bed, soil should be prepared carefully to suit the kind of plant that will grow in it. You’ll find “recipes” of all kinds in any authoritative greenhouse garden book. Prepared soil mixtures should be at least a foot deep for beds in which you plan to grow plants of moderate size. For fruit trees and other larger plants, make it even deeper.

Fertilizing

The fertilizing schedule which works so well for my house plants, seems to do equally well for my greenhouse plants. I shall stay with it until I find something better. But it does seem possible that a large greenhouse garden, with large areas of carefully prepared and nutritious soil, would probably need feeding slightly less frequently than plants in pots. I shall have to try this, when my dream greenhouse comes true.

Watering

One of the “musts” in my dream greenhouse will be both hot and cold water, and a provision for mixing them as they flow into the hose. Thus, watering will be like a gentle summer rain. I’ll have an extra-fine nozzle to break the stream into a delicate mist. Warmed water in a fine spray surely should not injure tender foliage in any way. And think what fun it would be to water a garden this way, enjoying the slightly musty fragrance of a warm summer night when soil is moistened by rain—and all of this in January when the snow is piled deep in drifts and banks outside the house.

Grooming

These are the little everyday pleasures of gardening in a greenhouse—snipping back a wandering branch, chiding a creeper and pulling it back from crawling over a neighbor, picking off a faded flower, supporting a branch heavily laden with flowers or fruit. It is real fun, and makes the difference between an overgrown mass and a carefully tended garden in which each plant appears at its best and in harmony with the others. Cleanliness—the removal of all organic matter before it rots, the rinsing away of dust and dirt—is the best protective measure against infiltration of insects and disease.

Insects and Disease

When my retirement time comes, I may have to make a choice. Which do I want most—the convenience of fumigation with greenhouse “bombs,” or the presence of pet frogs, ladybugs, friendly insects, chameleons, and the like among my greenery? I am sure I will choose the latter, because I will have plenty of time to tend my greenhouse garden; and it’s not too much trouble to “spot spray” any plant that shows signs of problems. Anyway, it’s risky to use strong fumigants in a greenhouse that is attached to a dwelling, unless it is tightly closed in and has no cracks or fissures for leakage. And who could be sure of that. Anyhow, if I killed all the insects, what would the frogs find to eat.

GREENHOUSE PROPAGATING

Actually, I have two propagating cases in our large greenhouse. One is completely enclosed in plastic to keep the humid air even more humid. It has three or four inches of perlite on top of an electric coil to give it gentle bottom heat. The cuttings are inserted in rows so they are easier to manage and remove when their time comes. Here I root all cuttings from delicate plants and those with large leaves that need high humidity to keep from wilting and drying while roots are forming. My little plastic boxes of difficult seeds are also set there, where they will keep warm and protected.

The second propagating box is wide open—merely an extra-large flat filled with sharp sand. Here I root the more rugged, or succulent, plants, such as cacti, geraniums, semperflorens begonias, and anything that may rot if kept too moist. Indeed, the sand may dry out occasionally, but they don’t seem to mind. Both cases are shaded by some old bamboo blinds.

(All of the window-garden plants listed in Chapter 6 do very well in greenhouses. See also the forced bulbs in Chapter 13.)