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| This single-use pot's first use was to enclose a tree's roots. It has stuck around for five seasons |
Four years ago this spring,
Betty and I began buying trees and shrubs for the garden at our
new home. Many specimens had root balls
of a size that required rope wrapped around burlap wrapped around a wire
cage. But six smaller trees came in
black, ten-gallon plastic pots; each 19 inches wide and 13 inches deep.
After the first trees went in,
we contacted the selling nurseries to recycle the pots, but were informed these
were ‘one-use’ containers (on top of which they had likely, themselves, been
made from recycled materials). The reason
for declining to take back the tubs was because they were encrusted with soil
and/or might contain diseases. Instead, we were
advised to take them to our town’s transfer station. We asked at the transfer station what would
become of the pots. Because they weren’t
‘clean’, we were told, the containers would be incinerated.
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| In 2016 the pots were pressed into service as we planted our second round of bulbs. |
As it turned out, we had an
almost immediate, though temporary, need for the pots. We had covered our newly-spread loam with several
inches of mulch. As we dug holes for arriving
shrubs – more that 50 that summer – we had to find a short-term parking spot
for the displaced soil other than a pile adjacent to the hole (which would
inevitably mix with the mulch). The pots
were perfect. Also, I was building a
stone wall and needed to group like-sized rocks for easy transport. There were times when there were more uses
for the vessels than available tubs.
That autumn, our first 1500
bulbs arrived. We excavated winding,
foot-deep trenches around the property, with those containers serving as a
brief way station for displaced soil.
Trenching for pipes to carry rainwater from downspouts to the wetlands
behind us provided yet another use.
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| Season after season, the pots makes themselves useful |
In the spring, we started the
next round of planting and, by now, those single-use plastic containers were
becoming indispensable friends. We lost
one to necessity: Betty acquired a lovely specimen of Sanguisorba
canadensis (American Burnet), a wonderful wildflower that produces magnificent plumes. Unfortunately, it thrives best in a moist environment,
and the ideal visual location on our property was ‘well drained’. Our solution was to sacrifice one of our
containers. We cut out part of its
bottom, sunk it a foot into the ground, and planted our American Burnet in it,
pledging to throw a gallon of water into the mini-wetland whenever things were
getting dry. It has thrived, and the
black neck of the container is still visible.
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| When not in use, the pots have a home next to our composters |
Another year went by and, each
spring, the four remaining tubs were roused from their off-season resting place
by our compost bins. All spring and summer
they served as either warehouses or transports for the soil/mulch/compost that
made our ever-denser garden possible. In
the fall, UPS brought another avalanche of bulbs to be planted. There was
hardly a week that went by that our one-use containers weren’t pressed into
service.
This year, they have been in
near-continuous use to transport compost, heel in perennials and, of course, to
hold topsoil for the plants destined for the final frontiers of our garden. This past weekend, an Aronia (Chokeberry)
and Ilex verticillata (Winterberry) found new homes on our property, as
did a tray of native ground covers.
As we planted those most recent
shrubs, though, I noticed for the first time our remaining containers are
showing their age. Two have large cracks
in their base that make carrying them problematic; they need a wheelbarrow as a
‘crutch’. One also has a cracked
rim. In short, their life span may be
five seasons.
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| In 2017 the pots allowed me to move 10 cubic yards of compost, a few cubic feet at a time |
But they have been five glorious
seasons. They were present at the
inception of the garden and proved to be useful as soon as their original
purpose was completed. They started out
as walk-ons but have, through steady, uncomplaining work, become stalwarts of
the regular garden troupe. If they were sentient beings, their ears would perk
up as soon as they heard Betty or me reaching for a trowel or spade, because
they knew they would soon, themselves, be called into action.
All right. Maybe I’m over-romanticizing a bunch of
pots. The thing is, I’m going to be
sorry to lose them, albeit to advanced age and general wear and tear. What I know is this: they were manufactured
to contain a single plant on its journey from a nursery to our home. They have
stuck around to help build an entire garden.
