you can't take it with you

My father has a rather unorthodox planting style. It’s not that he plants in containers, many gardeners do that. It’s not that he grows Penjing, the containerized gardening style that is the Chinese equivalent of bonsai. It’s that he plants much of his garden in containers that are then planted (mostly, but not completely) in the ground, the plant's roots escaping through drainage holes into the ground. Vegetables and other annuals are planted directly in the ground, but other plants are containerized first. These plants not only include smaller plants such as strawberries, but also camellia, strelitzia (bird of paradise), avocado, citrus, the wisteria vine that climbs the post at the front entry, passionfruit vines...I can only imagine what is happening with the roots below ground.

My father commented on his gardening style at my last visit. The reason that he does this, he says, is because of his semi-nomadic lifestyle. I’m not sure if it’s his decision or my mother’s, but my parents pack up and move every few years. Sometimes it’s two or three years, sometimes it’s eight or ten. But more commonly, it is five or six years. They always end up moving. He wants the plants to be able to sink their roots into the ground, but he also wants to be able to take them with him. With their roots in the ground, they grow better, and larger. When it comes time to move, he digs up the pots, cuts the roots at the drainage holes, and plants them in the new house. That way, he doesn’t have to leave his favorites behind.

My father recently suffered a rather serious stroke. Although his physical disability is thankfully limited, he certainly isn’t the same as he was. In the last few years, he had been slowing down. Where once he was a geriatric rancher: building fences, caring for animals and growing vegetables, the years seem to have caught up with him. He has moved to a house with a less than postage stamp garden. He has been moving slower, the garden less meticulously maintained. The stroke took away much of his eyesight, making gardening difficult at best. Seeing his garden, I couldn’t help but think that in his next move, he probably would not be taking his trees with him.

My father and his garden.