July is not the time to be out in the garden digging holes, planting trees, or pruning bushes. It’s too hot for humans to exert themselves, and it’s too hot for plants to be messed with. They don’t need that stress when they’re just trying to survive the summer.
In northern countries, many plants go into a type of hibernation during the cold of January and February. Here in the South, plants do something similar—but in the heat of summer.
In spring, fresh green leaves appeared, buds fattened, and flowers opened. Now, those same plants are in a kind of suspended animation, holding on until the weather cools again. Not all plants, of course. Annuals that only live for a few seasons must make the most of the time they have, no matter how hot it is. Petunias, vincas, marigolds—all bloom as fast as they can, in a race to spread their seeds before the days shorten into autumn. The same is true in the vegetable garden.
Plants may slow down, but there is still work for us to do. And here’s where Sherlock Holmes comes in. Picture this: an unknown man walks into Holmes’ office. Holmes says, “I see you are a bachelor, recently arrived from Nottingham, and you passed by your tailor on the way here today.” Dr Watson is astonished, but Holmes insists it was all elementary. His secret power is his ability to truly observe – to see everything as it is. Skilled gardeners cultivate the same talent.
People often claim that their tree, bush, or flower was fine yesterday, but toppled over dead today. It’s a complete mystery to them. The truth is, the plant was not fine. There had probably been signs and symptoms for months, but they went unnoticed until it was too late.
When we’re in our gardens, we must look through Holmes’ eyes. The wilting leaves on the hibiscus, the trail of ants moving up the stem of the brugmansia, the rosebud that withered without opening.
I go out in the cool of the morning with a pair of scissors in one hand and a mug of tea in the other. My eyes go to every plant I pass. I clip off the spent heads of annual flowers, watering them as I go. I look for insects and snails, and signs of poor health. Are the leaves bright? Are there abundant flower buds?
I move to the roses. Their blooming has slowed considerably in the heat. I hold the faded blossom in one hand and snip the stem just above the first five-lobed leaf. An old man with arthritic knuckles showed me this trick when I was very young. It encourages the plant to keep blooming. I examine the plant for signs of fungus or insect damage.
I notice that the leaves of one rose are not the dark green I would expect (see the photo). This could indicate a lack of nitrogen, but July is not the time to fertilise. I decide to water the roots with a weak solution of Epsom salts and look for improvement when the weather cools.
I stop to admire one of my stunning cycads. They were a gift from a family leaving the island after many years. This one is male and recently produced a golden cone of pollen. Cycads first appeared 280 million years ago, long before the time of the dinosaurs. Every part of this plant is spiky and highly toxic.
As I stand admiring the cycad, I notice a slight yellowing of the leaves. If these were lower leaves, I wouldn’t be too concerned; they naturally die off first. But these are in the middle. Cycads can decline rapidly and require constant vigilance. I examine the plant carefully and find no evidence of insects. Perhaps the stress of living in a pot in this heat has caused the problem, or the exertion of growing the pollen cone—or perhaps I’ve under- or over-watered it, or the soil has become too alkaline.
This case will need more investigation before the culprit reveals itself, but by taking a lesson from Sherlock Holmes, I’ve caught the problem early enough to avoid disaster.
