As the temperature drops, my plants have begun to suffer. I honestly don’t know why I hadn’t put more thought into how they would survive the winter; then again, at the time of planting, as I assumed that our current dwelling would be short-term. I expected to be pulling out and placing the pop-up greenhouse around them now. Anyway, this morning, our balcony was a delightful 1°C (almost 34°F) and as black spots had been developing on my basil’s leaves for about a week or so, I knew that something had to be done. It’s not like I could anticipate anymore summer days, so time to stop procrastinating!
About 3 weeks ago, as the temperatures started falling, my basil put out flowers again. Usually, I pinch them off because once the plant flowers, it stops producing leaves.
I must say, I never want to transplant another plant again! I was all gung-ho about my task as I prepped their new pots. However, it quickly all went south as I dug a wide trench around each plant to loosen them. The sound of my spade cutting through roots as I attempted not to destroy their fragile systems was bad enough. But it got worse when I slipped my hands under the roots to pull them up – these little guys had really developed some serious roots and they were not giving up their pots without a fight! That fight included the sound of tearing and popping – a tad much for my sensitive psyche. 😦 Honestly, I had to stop and walk away with each transplant – the sound was like ‘nails on a chalkboard’ and it tore right through to my core. But I had to finish what I started.
After successfully (hopefully!) completing the abysmal task (I am SO never doing that again), I drenched them with water and buzzed my mom to recount my horror story. Mom thought it was beyond funny. Truth be told, I am usually not a squeamish person – I have no difficulties dispatching, gutting, and butchering meat or fish. I’m usually the first one to stick my hand (without gloves, thank you very much!) into an animal’s body cavity to ensure I get out every errant fragment of innards (when cleaning and preparing the meat for seasoning); so why would a plant that can’t even talk bother me so much?! I don’t know, but I swear I heard those darned plants screaming!
The murder scene! (Yes, my basil is crooked and will stay that way because I am NOT touching their roots again!) After replanting and watering, I left them in the afternoon sun and will bring them in for their first night. Mom says I did the transplant correctly, I certainly hope so.
A Bahamian In Austria 