Last week, I was not on top of my plant identity game. I wish to rectify that problem post haste, if you don’t count the week I waited to do it. And now that I’ve got it straight, I feel it’s only fair to tell you: Scleranthus uniflorus is a terrific groundcover, and quite possibly, you need it.
For a couple weeks after I planted my Sclerantha, the crows took to pulling it out of the ground. I don’t know what they had against it, but holy smokes. I put that plant back in the ground at least a dozen times.
And funny thing, there may just be an upside: do you imagine those are baby Scleranthus inadvertently distributed by the crows? I’m not sure, but I’m keeping an eye on them. Updates at eleven.
Bolax gummifera is one of the plants I had Scleranthus mixed up with, and you can kind of see why, right? The Bolax is similar. My unscientific observation tells me the Scleranthus is a little easier, except initially–as shown above. Maybe, I was doing it wrong, and those crows were trying to teach me a lesson?
I like the Bolax gummifera, but it seems a little more persnickety than Scleranthus, crows notwithstanding.
And I hate to even admit this, but when Megan initially thrust the Scleranthus into my hand and said I should buy it, I thought it was Scotch Moss. But buy it I did. Because I’ve never gone wrong trusting my daughter’s opinion.
Have you ever done, that–gotten a plant utterly confused? I hope to have it straightened out, now and forevermore. And that I haven’t confused anyone else in the process.
And finally, just because I love glorious groundcovers, here’s a batch of mixed sedums acquired during the Scleranthus Little Prince of Oregon escapade.
I don’t know what’s up with all my heretofores and henceforths today, but I sincerely hope you’ll grant me your good wishes, notwithstanding.
Cheers
p.s. I just finished reading The Signature of All Things, by Elizabeth Gilbert, which may account for my archaic language use. Worth a read, especially for botanical enthusiasts. And one tiny aside, in the way of storytelling. I’ve been a life-long reader. I love to have a teetering stack of books on my nightstand. But ever since my pesky shattered shoulder and concussion, two years ago next month, I was not able to read. I couldn’t concentrate and it was uncomfortable. I mentioned, a million times, that I found a new sports-med doc who hooked me up with therapists to address my concussion aka Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI). TBI doesn’t sound nearly as cute and cuddly. And it is not. But back to the point: I think the therapies are working, because I’m reading again. It’s pretty damn happy making, and I thought you’d be dying to know.
Happy reading out there!