BLOOMS TO BANISH THE BLEAK MIDWINTER

I’M NOT BIG on a lot of tinsel and flash around the house during the winter holidays, maybe because my childhood took place in the days before there was a WalMart or a Dollar Store on every corner. My mother worked; we were latch-key children, so any decorating had to be done by us after school or on the weekends, with Mary Jane giving a desultory nod – or shaking of the head – to our paper & paste creations. I had one close friend whose mother was a real estate agent, and maybe because this woman necessarily viewed clutter as devaluation of property, Christie was not permitted to have a Christmas tree indoors. Instead, her father mounted one on a stand on the patio, where Christie and her brother were required to view it from the dining room through glass sliding doors. This always made me feel sad for my friend, no less than for the tree, which bore no ornaments excepting the occasional bird that perched on its branches.

Tree viewed from street

In adulthood, however, I’m starting to see the appeal of nature-based holiday decorating. I lucked out when I inherited from my paternal grandmother the atavistic gene for loving to garden: this has led me to create gardens large and small wherever I’ve lived, and to bring the outdoors inside when I was lucky enough to have access to the plants I grew as well as those which thrived naturally in my environment. I have a keen appreciation of the rituals and symbols of the winter solstice, which emphasize light, fire, and evergreens being brought indoors or placed above doorways. In ancient times, Celts believed that a branch of pine or cedar displayed above one’s exterior door on the longest night was a sign that grudges and disagreements would be set aside by the home’s owner, and anyone previously regarded as an enemy would, on that night, be welcomed into the home to eat and drink. (Such a custom, if practiced worldwide, might eliminate the need for the U. N. security council.)

As winter approaches, I gather the fruits of the winter garden and the adjacent woods to bring indoors: magnolia branches with their giant, light-reflecting leaves and bright red seedheads; branches of Eastern red cedar, heavy with small blue berries at this time of year; handfuls of shiny green boxwood and holly, and cuttings from specialty shrubs and trees like variegated Osmanthus heterophyllus ‘Goshiki,’ Camellia sasanqua ‘Crimson Candles’ and the white-berried branches of Nandina domestica ‘Alba.’

The most exciting 'green' decor to make its appearance in my house during this season consists of two types of plants which I've been forcing since October and early November: Christmas cactus (somewhat imprecisely named, as I'll explain) and amaryllis. 

Alice watches for holiday visitors 

CHRISTMAS CACTUS & THANKSGIVING CACTUS

These plants originate in the coastal mountains of Brazil, where they were ‘discovered’ by a plant collector in the 19^th century and their genus named Schlumbergera for a well-known European botanist. They do not at all resemble the cacti we are familiar with in the desert regions of the Northern Hemisphere, except for their segmented ‘leaves.’ In Brazil the plants bloom naturally in the spring, featuring pink, white, red and peachy-pink blossoms, but here in the continental U. S. they need to have exposure to light and water controlled in order to force their blooms for winter display. 

Clementine with a pink Christmas cactus (T. buckleyi)

Schlumbergera truncata, one of the six to nine species of this genus, are generally lumped into the category of ‘Thanksgiving cactus’ because they bloom earlier than Schlumbergera buckleyi, or ‘Christmas cactus.’ According to horticultural experts, the buckleyivarieties have slightly different branching habits (they are pendulous as opposed to the more erect truncatatypes) and also sport pink pollen when their flowers bloom, but I’ve been growing both kinds for years and I’ll be darned if I can tell the difference. If only I could remember to put stakes in each pot noting the date of their bloom, then I’d be able to separate them the following year by flowering periods. However, each fall when I begin the process of forcing these beauties, I’m lacking that information. Some day!

My potted Schlumbergera plants go outside in spring as soon as the weather is reliably warm, striking accents on the steps of my garden stairs, or occupying a plinth in some semi-shaded corner. They don’t require much water, so long as they’re not enduring full exposure to the sun, and benefit from an occasional sprinkling of Osmocote.

Schlumbergera in October

As soon as mid-summer passes and the long days begin to shorten, I think about preparing the area in my walk-out basement for potted perennials and shrubs that must be protected through the coldest days of winter. My Gro-Light table (the special tube-light mounted on the hood substitutes capably for sunshine) holds a variety of tender perennials like begonias that are tented on freezing nights, while the space under the table hosts woody shrubs and ferns that require less protection. Taking up most of the table’s surface is my collection of Schlumbergera, which show buds beginning in October and are getting ready to bloom (mostly) by late November. The trick is to bring the plants into your basement or garage at least 6-8 weeks before you want them to bloom, and then ensure that they have 12-14 hours of darkness for optimal bloom-set. I accomplish this by covering the window behind the table with black landscape fabric and then setting a timer on the light in order to limit exposure. According to most gardening guides, the best temperature for bloom-set is 50-55 degrees. This is usually achievable in my well-insulated basement, especially with the plastic tarp tenting them through the chilliest nights. I water minimally while they’re coming on, as thirsty plants set more buds.  

A Christmas cactus prepares to flower

When the swollen buds are preparing to bloom, it’s time to bring each plant into your house for display. Don’t set the pot in direct sunlight – this will turn the foliage purple, and could harm the plant irreparably. Instead, give it indirect light and, preferably, a central spot on a table or shelf where the flowers can be admired from all over the room. Over the years I have collected a variety of cachepots which I mix and match to contain each blooming cactus. 

A heat-seeking lizard hitches a ride indoors on my cactus

It didn’t occur to me until this October when I was bringing the pots of cactus into the basement that I have been growing Schlumbergera since I moved into my first studio right out of college. That basement room in San Francisco had one window, and my small Christmas cactus occupied pride of place on the sill, its scarlet blooms striking the only colorful note in the fog-bound urban streetscape.

At this point in my life, these tropical cacti give me so much pleasure for the minimal investment of time and effort they require that I now consider prepping them a must-do autumn ritual.

Give your cactus indirect light

 

AMARYLLIS

            The other essential holiday plant for me isn’t a plant at all, but a bulb. Shortly after Halloween, I begin scouting reputable nurseries and specialty garden shops for the tell-tale wooden crates packed with excelsior. If I’m lucky, I find select amaryllis bulbs (Hippeastrum) tucked carefully in the crates, each one the size of a small ham.  (Amaryllis are native to South America, but have been bred for hundreds of years in bulb-centric Holland.)

Soak the bulb before planting

Before buying a bulb, I make sure it’s as firm as a good Vidalia onion, not mushy, and not dried out. A bit of mold is all right, so long as it’s confined to the brown outer skin. I always look for a green tip emerging from the folds of dormant tissue at the neck of the bulb. If this growth is three dimensional, like a small green fingertip, it’s probably an emerging bloomstalk. That means you will have flowers. However, if it resembles a flat blade, it might merely be an emerging leaf, which is no guarantee of the bulb’s flowering ability. Choose carefully, because high-quality Dutch amaryllis bulbs are pricey, running from $25-35. But for this much beauty, I allow myself to splurge on one or two. That’s because I can’t imagine a Christmas at my house without an amaryllis blooming somewhere.

If it’s November before I’m able to locate a bulb, as it was yesterday when I bought an enormous ‘Carmen’ from Cline’s Nursery in Fallston, North Carolina, then I know I have to pot it up in a hurry. Amaryllis take about six weeks from planting to first bloom, and if my bloomstalks are slow to grow and bud out, I’ll be celebrating New Year’s with the showy flowers in their glory, and not Christmas. So, aim for potting up no later than Veteran’s Day. 

If you know you will be potting the bulb on a given day, mix a small amount of liquid Quik Start or plant food in a container of warm water and soak the bulb for at least an hour beforehand. It’s been traveling on a cargo ship across the Atlantic for days or weeks, and by the time you’re holding it, the roots are likely going to feel as dry as sand. Soaking the bulb will ‘wake’ it up.

The literature on forcing amaryllis recommends potting the bulbs with high-quality potting soil in a pot that is 2 inches wider than the bulb, but over the years I’ve gradually begun using pots with far less wiggle room. It appears to me that the bulbs like being ‘cozy’ in a tighter space, and this also helps limit the risk of overwatering. Just be sure to use a clay or ceramic pot as opposed to a plastic one if you choose this method, because you will need the weight of a heavy pot to counteract the top-heaviness of a fully grown stalk bearing buds or flowers. This is another reason I usually set the planting pot in a larger cachepot: it stabilizes the stalk in full bloom and gives the amaryllis flowers better balance, visually.

 Plant with 'shoulders' exposed

Another ‘rule’ I’ve changed to suit myself is the one about planting the bulb in soil two-thirds the depth of the bulb, leaving it’s ‘shoulders’ exposed. I like the look of the white shoulders and, again, I don’t want to run the risk of burying the amaryllis in too much damp soil. That’s why I only fill my planting pots about half the depth of the bulb, being sure to tamp the soil down very firmly and evenly around the bulb in order to prevent the stalk from toppling it out of the pot.

If you soaked the bulb in fertilized water before planting it, you don’t have to be concerned with feeding it again until the following year. Set the pot in a sunny window, or under a lamp fitted with a plant-light bulb, if the weather is gloomy. Since I take delight in the shape of the growing budstalk, which I find very beautiful in its own right, I like to have the amaryllis sited where I can look at it a lot when I’m home. My cat also seems drawn to these tall, elegant stalks and likes to pose beside the pots for Christmas portraits. Maybe she doesn’t like sharing my attention?

When the buds open, at last, they are a glorious sight. Their colors range from pure white (‘Alfresco’) to fluorescent greenish white (‘Lemon Lime,’ as shown in the first photo in this post) to pink and white (‘Apple Blossom’) to red with white streaks (‘Minerva’) to dusky apricot (‘Rilona’) and finally to crimson (‘Carmen,’ ‘Red Lion,’ ‘Red Nymph’) and so many more variations. One of the Hippeastrum species types that became very popular a few years ago is H. papillio, which bears slender tepals of ivory streaked with maroon stripes, a green throat and long, curving stamens. I admired this plant enormously when it bloomed in my house that first year, and tried to force it into bloom the second year, but failed. Since then, I have been unable to find one to buy because wherever they are sold, the shop’s stock is usually sold out within a day. You’d think I’d get smart and start ordering my Hippeastrum favorites well in advance of the season from a mail-order provider like Brent & Becky’s Bulbs, but amaryllis fever never seems to hit me until the temperature dips. Consequently, I am still pining for ‘papillio.’

In December, 'Apple Blossom' inspires me 

Many garden manuals wax enthusiastic about saving bloomed-out amaryllis bulbs and trying for repeat performances the following year. However, after toiling for many years to perfect this technique of getting the bulbs to bloom the second year (cutting the leaves down after flowering, setting the pots out in spring, forcing them into dormancy in late summer before bringing them out of dormancy in November and repotting them…) I realized that I could only expect flowers in one out of about half a dozen recycled bulbs. Considering all the work involved, I decided it was smarter for me to buy new bulbs every year, their cost notwithstanding. Nothing’s more deflating than a bulb that doesn’t bloom, and the holidays are not a time for feeling deflated!

^^^

The change of seasons from bright autumn into winter always makes me feel reflective, and lately I've been reflecting on how stressful 2022-23 has proven to be for my husband and I. We will come out of it all right, I’m certain, but until that day arrives, it’s been wonderful to distract myself with pots, bulbs, basement gardens and holiday preparations. For me, these living plants hold a powerful promise: that great beauty will bloom in the darkest days of the year.

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