Online Porn & The Particular Gardener

“I thought it would be a relief once the Nigerian princes stopped sending me requests to hold their millions for them. Now, however, I daily receive offers of ‘Free Access to Local Sluts’ . . . and ‘Married But Unhappy’ is persistent in hoping I’m interested in dating.” William A. Balk, Jr.

Epicurus’ Porch

By William A. Balk, Jr.

BEAUFORT South Carolina—(Weekly Hubris)—8/26/2013—I thought it would be a relief once the Nigerian princes stopped sending me requests to hold their millions for them. Now, however, I daily receive offers of “Free Access to Local Sluts” . . . and “Married But Unhappy” is persistent in hoping I’m interested in dating.

I took a look at my Inbox folder recently, my eye jaundiced perhaps by the recent spate of poorly-targeted spam seductions but, looking more closely at my non-spam email, I realized just how similar to the local sluts’ come-on were the solicitations from my plant-catalog sources.

From a very large, very slick, high-end nursery: The Best Deer-Resistant Plants. And The Most Exceptional Collection of Cultivars Anywhere. And The Highest-Quality Roses For Your Garden Available . . . Right Here.

Now these are demonstrably absurd come-ons, as unlikely to yield meaningful encounters as those entreaties from the unhappily-wed. I can state with comfortable assurance that there are no “deer-resistant plants,” just as there are no squirrel-proof fruit trees. The resistance of any given plant depends utterly on the momentary whim of the deer, my somewhat bitter experience teaches.

True, some things in the garden may escape the notice of foraging deer . . . often for many years. But, one day, a deer will just happen to pass by that “deer proof” holly (an Ilex burfordii, for instance, which is obviously and utterly inedible) and take a little taste of the tender new growth on the tip of one tiny branch. That very day, My Friends, that deer will tell all its mates about the wonderful new plant it has discovered, how delicious it tastes, and exactly where to find it. From then on, that Ilex will be on the menu for all of them.

While one prominent supplier’s catalog lists several unusual or infrequently-offered plants, it chiefly lists hundreds of the same cultivars as most of the other better plant sources—certainly not “the most exceptional collection” anywhere.

Such a genuinely superior collection of cultivars instead would be the one offered by one’s loveingly cultivated network of gardening enthusiasts and plant geek friends, whose quirks and obsessions provide a breathtaking array of rare, unusual, hard-to-find plants. And this more human resource offers bounteous information on growing the plants, as well.

Increasingly, I find that my own plant cravings tend toward particularly unusual varieties that even the high-end marketers don’t carry, or toward varieties so old-fashioned and out of style that no one seems to offer them for sale. I find I am making more use of the internet to locate small, local nurseries around the country with unusual collections of plants to offer, or a proprietor with a monomaniacal focus on a particular genus.

I’ll even admit to buying plants on Ebay.

Obviously a risky venture, bidding on exotic plants there can sometimes result in access to a cultivar otherwise unobtainable. Or it can lead to ridiculous foolishness.

A number of years ago, I was collecting crinums, which were then extremely hard to find in most nurseries. I traveled over much of the southeast looking for varieties I didn’t have, and occasionally I’d come across someone who loved them as much as I did. Conversation often led to other sources in other places. One name I constantly encountered in those days was that of Jenks Farmer, who was traveling a similar route building horticultural collections, including a superb collection of crinums, for the establishment of the fine Riverbanks Botanic Garden and Zoo in Columbia, South Carolina. Jenks now owns one of the most extensive nursery collections of crinums available.

One day, I saw a listing on Ebay for a then extremely rare striped-leaf form of Crinum asiaticum. The seller was on the west coast; the starting bid for a small growing bulb was $25.00, and I was absurdly focused on acquiring it.

I won the auction, even though a number of last-minute crinum crazies jumped into the bidding, for $140.00, plus shipping.

The plant died the next winter.

As for “highest-quality roses” promised in the fancy nursery’s seductive email? I suppose I must acknowledge that defining these rarities depends of necessity upon the individual interests of the particular gardener.

For me, ease of care, resistance to disease, fragrance, and form are the determinants of quality, but I find that almost all the large commercial offerers of roses emphasize photographic perfection over my primary requirements. Most hybrid teas are lacking in sufficient fragrance; climbers are gorgeous holy terrors consuming whole buildings if their stabbing, thorn-bearing canes are not pruned regularly and severely. And frequent spraying and feeding are almost always needed for healthy, attractive roses.

So, no.

For my purposes, the highest quality roses, and those which will grow happily and vigorously, with beautiful blooms, nearly all year, with almost no care requirements other than trimming off spent bloom canes, are old-fashioned roses acclimated to the hot and humid climate I grow them in.

These are usually old China rose varieties such as “Louis Philippe,” or “Agrippina.” Or the bounteous, if briefly-flowering, “Lady Banks.” Or even “Mutabilis,” with its long-flowering single blooms in reds, pinks, mauves, yellows. They all make me very happy.

So, while the email promotional solicitations are remarkably like the “male enhancement” and “local sluts” spam I receive, they seem to share some similarity, too, to the Nigerian princes: have you looked at the prices for these plant offers?

One very large, very snooty plant provider with a magnificent catalog (and a never-ending stream of gorgeous, provocative email solicitations should you ever ask for a catalog or, the gods forfend, order from them) successfully enticed me into sending off for a stunningly beautiful Agapanthus praecox “Black Pantha.”

At least, the photograph and the description were stunningly gorgeous. It will be some years before the little bulb which arrived manages to build enough strength to flower so that I can judge whether it is in fact superior to the magnificent older agapanthus I have already. And I was happy to pay the 13 bucks (plus shipping, of course) for something about the size of a spring onion at Publix. At least this creature, unlike the poor striped Crinum I got on Ebay, is thriving.

Those four-color-glossy catalogs and enticing emails from plant sources have rightly been called Plant Porn, and their effect on even this pragmatic gardener is disabling: I have not cancelled a single catalog list I find myself on (Wayside Gardens, Hoffman Nursery, Caroliniana Nurseries, Baker’s Seeds, Park Seeds, Plant Delights Nursery, Sunshine Farm and Gardens, Annie’s Annuals and Perennials, Lushlife Nurseries, and lots, lots more). Each tempts without reserve; each merits repeated examinations; each usually provides ample opportunity for realizing precisely why I really don’t need that little dogwood in a little 3-quart pot for $70.00.

I’m easy, but not THAT easy.

I guess I have to admit the obvious. Even Plant Delights has discovered my secret—if they ever send out a mailing subject-lined “Free Access to Local Sluts,” I know my name will be the first “Slut” they list! I’m a Plant Whore.

Note: The image of the Rosa cinensis mutabilis derives from http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8387/8515719364_9375be1658_z.jpg.