Best Plants for a Window
By H. Annette Poole
If I had room for only six plants, I would have eight, and one over for good measure, as I will explain later. I am aware there are many other desirable plants, but if I had only one window for them, these would bring daily joy to my soul, and “take care of themselves.” First of all, I should get from a florist a thriving cyclamen which would be just opening its first buds at Christmas. Before its blossoming I should enjoy its beautiful foliage, and its faintly sweet flowers would hang on until Easter day. Next, for its filmy grace I would choose what is often called ‘lace-fern,’ but what is really asparagus tenuissimus, and for fragrance, a rose-geranium, turning it often and pinching it out, to keep it round and compact. A double nasturtium is seldom without its cheerful blossoms, and the bright yellow with its red markings is prettier than the red one. I would have one begonia, and here I must confess it would be difficult to choose. The “beefsteak” begonia, with large, smooth, round leaves, olive-green with red beneath, sends up late in the winter long waxen sprays of delicate pink blossoms, which last several weeks. The “trout” begonia has lovely serrated leaves spotted with white, and pretty blossoms. Then some of the richly colored “rex” begonias blossom, and their foliage is a constant delight. They do not need sun. It is a matter of personal preference. For a sixth delight I would have a hyacinth, or rather several hyacinths, planted in earth at little intervals of time, and kept in the dark, and brought out one after another, to occupy the last place on the shelf. Over these six plants I would hang a pot of just the common variety of pink live oxalis, to fold up its leaves and blossoms every night, and open them in the morning like a little, rosy child. My eighth plant would be coliseum ivy, known also as Kenilworth ivy, planted in any of the pots containing the others. Its little round, scalloped foliage is always pretty, and it has a delicate little blossom faintly tinted with lavender. It is like a tiny snapdragon, and will open its mouth if you pinch its ears. Tiny sprays, pinched off, root readily, and the little black seeds, scattered over the earth in the pots, will soon make plants. When it withers, pull off what has died, and the rest will start up again. My “one plant over for good measure” would be a Japanese climbing fern, which can stand on the floor at the end of the shelf, and send up long fronds with a leafage more delicate than maidenhair. Give it a string, and it will go to the top of the room, and when it “fruits,” its grace is indescribable. After several months it ripens and turns brown, when one has only to cut it down, and presently it starts again.—H. Annette Poole, in American Agriculturist.