The leaves were curling up on what I had assumed was a perfectly sound plant. But I knew just what to do, for I am a gardener. I Googled it.
It takes a little bushwhacking to get your answer. First you put in the name of your plant. Maybe you know it by its nickname, maybe its full Latin baptismal name. But there are plenty of monikers for a plant as fine as yours used to be, before it started curling up. Your Common Phlegmwort (Ptuitaria vulgaris) is also known as Bladderpussy, St.-Michael’s-toes, Sneaky Steve, and, in some southern locales, Kiss-me-under-the-bleachers. Not to be confused with the European Phlegmwort (Diverticulosum purpurea, or Gassy Gus), which is a whole different family. Which one is your plant? Are there images? Do you remember what yours looked like before the leaves curled up?
Good news! You found your plant. And there are articles about leaf curl! The causes of leaf curl include poor light, too much light, light at the wrong time of the day, overwatering, and drought. Other culprits could be loamy soil, sandy soil, wet roots, dry roots, and square roots. Nematodes, sucking insects, bird poop, and possum bacteria have all been implicated in leaf curl, along with genetic botanical shyness. Deer breath can be an issue in the east. Check under the leaves for webbing, tiny golf balls, and tadpoles, which can be a sign of poor drainage.
Once you have determined the cause of your particular leaf curl, you can address the issue. “Rotate your plant periodically to ensure even light distribution and consider using sheer curtains to diffuse intense sunlight.,” it says here. I’ve found many if not most plants don’t take kindly to rough spinning but it’s worth a shot. It did take me longer than I care to admit to recognize that this helpful advice was designed for potted plants indoors, but in the garden proper, if you have suitably sturdy neighboring perennials or a pair of stout sunflowers, it’s often possible to rig up a lightweight cafe curtain for the little princesses.
I have four of these plants in various locations in the garden. Two of them are doing fine. I am going to employ my horticultural prowess, honed for over forty years in this location. I am going to yank the sucker out of the ground and jam it in somewhere else. If it dies, it goes in the compost, where its tiny soul might reincarnate in something worthy.
If it dies in the same place something else died, and you can rule out motor oil from the asshole next door who kept pouring it in your hedge, don’t give up. You can always throw in a couple seedlings of Bend-Over-Betty. She’s not that good-looking, but she sure gets around.
It looks like lungwort. Does it have little stems of pink and blue flowers? If not, you really should get some lungwort, for it is a lovely little flowering thing.
“Under the Bleachers” — well known book by Seymour Butts
It’s totally Pulmonaria. I’ve split ‘er numerous times but a lot of them are looking unhappy this year. At least I have a lot of sad lungworts.
In the past I have used old umbrellas to shade particularly tender plants… but I have noticed that all my old umbrellas has disappeared as I have a particularly minimalist daughter who saw no reason to hold onto them… Oh Ye of little faith…
I’m getting minimalister all the time. Someone in Westmoreland has a huge rose garden and a colorful umbrella for each one. It’s quite a sight in June leading up to the Rose Festival awards.
This post reminds me of my favorite Disney lyric: “I’m especially good at expectorating!”
Kind of a spitty line though.
You said ‘ptui’. That’s a Snoopy quote.
It IS? Dang!
A joyful yet practical gardener! We share in your exasperation of a plant that has no cut-and-dried answer to keep it thriving. At least there’s those goofy names you came up with!
I’m just going to keep moving it.
You walked too close. You trod on it. You dropped a piece of sod on it. You hoed it down. You weeded it. You planted it the wrong way up. You grew it in a yoghurt cup But you forgot to make a hole; The soggy compost took its toll. September storm. November drought. It heaved in March, the roots popped out. You watered it with herbicide. You scattered bonemeal far and wide. Attracting local omnivores, Who ate your plant and stayed for more. You left it baking in the sun While you departed at a run To find a spade, perhaps a trowel, Meanwhile the plant threw in the towel. from A Gardenner Obsessed by Geoffrey B. Charlesworth (there’s lots more. . . .).
THANK you Marcia! I shall quote you at our next Master Gardener meeting!
Fabulous!
Motor oil! I hadn’t thought of that. Everywhere we’ve lived, we’ve planted. And everywhere there’s been at least one patch of Death Dirt. Each time we encounter a new patch in a new yard, we throw everything at it – plant after plant, stuff to change the soil’s Ph. Incantations, anointments and live sacrifices. With serious Death Dirt, nothing works. Now I can blame men, the redneck, climate change deniers, the kind with their heads under open car hoods, familiar scapegoats. I feel better. Thanks. (Please, no unkind comments about over-generalizing my data.)
This was very specific data. Clayton. We call it the Clayton Zone. And the dirt looks marvelous. Won’t even grow a weed.
That’s a perfect description of ‘plant frustration’ – when the little dears do not do what yo want them to do.
May I share it with my garden club, pleae ?
Lynne
Goodness gracious, you may share it with the world!
What a bunch of high-fallutin’ gardners! Heck, I’m just grateful that my Hostas came back this year and that the garden slugs aren’t munching down on them like salad greens!
Did climate change dry up your slugs? That’s quite a slugfeast.