After a Fashion
When Stephen works his green thumb, he feels like Octomom
By Stephen MacMillan Moser, Fri., Aug. 13, 2010
THE DOLDRUMS Despite a few 100-plus degree days, it's been a relatively mild summer, yes? Ideally, it will mean a mild winter, and we won't lose so many of our garden plants. Last winter was devastating to our yard – the annuals vanished as quickly as snow leopards. The tender perennials disappeared like dodos. We started losing cactus, yucca, ivy, oleander .... In the spring, the planting beds looked like Afghan war zones, with doom and destruction and hardly a living specimen as far as the eye could see. Starting over was daunting, but my mom and I had to do it. Creating then inhabiting an inviting backyard environment is essential to us. I spend hours and hours a day in the yard – working yes, but only as my energy allows. The bulk of the time I simply like to rest and enjoy the fruits of our labors. Some give more back than others. Some I plant carefully, adding starting mix, plant food, and tender, loving care. Then comes the wait. Within days, the tiny plant will stick its precious little head out, and we'll be on our way to a lovely interpersonal relationship that may last ... a season? Earlier in the spring, I was enchanted with raising plants from seeds. Wrong. I'll leave that to lab scientists with tweezers, stethoscopes, and magnifying glasses. After planting hundreds of seeds and covering the pots with clear plastic, I tried to forget about them, leaving their little greenhouses to do their jobs. After 30 or so days into it, I could see the tiny seedlings, and suddenly I felt like Octomom, having spontaneously given birth to dozens of children all at once. Thousands of minute cotyledons filled various containers, and I imagined a virtual forest filled with hollyhocks, gardenias, pride of Barbados plants, Texas mountain laurel, hostas, ferns, and every other glorious living thing. I showered them with love and water ... and drowned them all, except for five hollyhocks that tenaciously survived. My experiment in reproduction had been a failure. Taking a cue from Octomom, I ignored knowing all along that reproduction was a bad idea for me. Then in mid-spring, my trusty friend and photographer Seabrook gave me a cast-iron plant (aspidistra), saying that it was impossible to kill. I killed it. Almost. By giving it full sun. Now it resides happily under a live-oak tree in the backyard, and I expect it to proliferate wildly next year. So, cast-iron plants are a big "yes" on my list of things to plant. Remembering the lushness of New Orleans, my mom planted a few elephant ear bulbs. Another winner. We've now planted dozens of them in large masses and trouble spots. I harangued my mom into buying elephant ears that grow 5-by-7-foot leaves so we could screen off our unsightly back fence. And castor bean plants. They grow to the size of houses with very little attention. But now, now I worship at the altar of the Great Canna. Months ago, I purloined five canna plants that had grown under my brother's fence. They shot up several feet in a few weeks with glorious foliage. An unexpected visitor known as the canna leaf roller made an appearance. This innocuously named pest is public enemy No. 1 in my book. Within two days, the goddamn things had eaten most of the flesh off the leaves, leaving them to look like an arrangement designed by Morticia Addams. A quick consultation at the garden center solved that problem, and now I can't get cannas out of my mind. The cheapest cannas in an array of sizes and colors are available through the Canna Queen (901 Hwy. 21 W., Cedar Creek, 512/545-6224, www.cannaqueentx.com), a dealer my mom discovered online. Out near Bastrop, this trailer surrounded by towering cannas is owned by Heidi Fysh, who will dig your selections out of the ground in front of you.
THE WEEK THAT WAS I just don't know much about it and have been fairly stand-offish regarding the upcoming Austin Fashion Week. It's the second year, and I still don't really understand what it's about. It's certainly not a trade show in the sense that New York and other fashion capitals have. Austin's calendar is already littered with dozens of artsy little fashion shows, trunk shows, and receptions every month, with various designers showing their work at various boutiques and other venues. Austin Fashion Week seems less like Olympus Fashion Week and more like a Central Texas festival of fashion. Still, I did attend last year's Austin Fashion Awards and had a great time, but it reminds me of what I always have to remind fashion students and acolytes: The glamorous fashion shows and events are about one-thirtieth of the work you will have to do to be successful. It's what's in between that's so critical. So let's find out for ourselves, shall we?
