A Bumper Crop of . . . . Pollen

The pollen is out in force this year.  I noticed the other day, when I went out to fetch the newspaper and the front porch is coated with yellow powder.  It’s a nice mix from the surrounding plants that causes me to sneeze uncontrollably.  For those of my faithful readers that too suffer from spring allergies, my sympathies.  With any luck, it will wash away soon with any passing showers.  In the meantime, that glorious spring of stuffed up nose, itchy eyes, and sometimes even skin irritation are upon us.

I’ve suffered from these allergies since childhood.  I’m a middle child, and for some reason, my older brother and younger sister were never so afflicted.  For me, late summer into early fall was the worst.  Ragweed and goldenrod would shut me down pretty well.  In those days, there was no such thing as a “non-drowsy” antihistamine.  In high school, the marching band rehearsal field was a prosperous bed of ragweed.  I’d have to watch and learn the drills from a distance.  Now, when I see garden magazines featuring lush meadow gardens filled with goldenrod, my sinuses fill up just at the thought.  We have some out behind the garage, which I ask the landscapers to cut down each year.  They look at me like I’m crazy because “it’s so pretty”.  It is, and quite toxic too. 

This morning, I went out to read my paper on the screened porch. If you’re wondering if the pollen can get through the panels of screens, the answer is, “yes”.  It can, and it does. Hence, I’m taking the time to write this in the safety of the Plant Room.  Although, there are fewer plants here today, in anticipation of the Princess moving home to finish the final year of her dissertation.  But that’s fodder for another day.   

There is a certain irony, is there not?  A plant person, an enthusiastic if not highly skilled gardener, having allergic reactions to them?  Rather like a carpenter that’s allergic to sawdust, or a house painter that breaks out in hives from the smell of paint.  We do what we can, and for me, it’s fortunately only now, in June, and the end of August.  I suppose I could wear a facemask all the time that I’m outside. That makes me look too much like a burglar, lurking in the bushes.  It’s not a reputation-builder.  

When I was in high school, there was a large road construction project that was relocating a section of the highway near where we lived.  In fact, they used the gravel from my dad’s gravel bank, and he managed to get the makings of a pond where the gravel was removed.  I had a  summer job as time-keeper for the construction company for a couple of summers, and it was great.  The third summer, everything was pretty much done, the bypass was finished, and the only job available was raking out loam on the slopes, and then seeding and covering them with hay to prevent washout.  Basically, taking apart bales of hay and shaking them all over the newly seeded areas.  That did wonders for my hay fever.  I endured it for a couple of days, and then it got too much.  I spoke to my parents about it, suggesting that I look for some other, less toxic summer employment.  My mother, God bless her little pointed head, and, might I add, a nurse to boot, was most resistant to my giving up such a well-paying job.  And it was, in those days.  Back in the 1970’s, it was paying about $18 an hour.  So, she came home with a couple of facemasks that she’d found and was sure would do the trick.  It didn’t, and I was forced, after a few more days of agony, to give up the job and go to work in a restaurant kitchen.  

It’s great that the pharmaceutical companies have managed to capitalize on the pollen season nicely. Antihistamines are selling for, like, a bazillion dollars a pill.  Really?  This medication has been around for generations.  And I doubt that there’s been that much change in the formula.  Why is it so expensive?  Because, they know we need it.  Desperately. Like the price of gasoline right before the Memorial Day weekend.  Or the week of July 4^th, or Labor Day.  I heard just the other day a news anchor mentioning that OPEC was considering cutting production.  Followed up with the comment, and I loved this, “We don’t’ know yet how that will affect gas prices.”  Are you kidding me?  I could tell you that, and I’m a retired music teacher without any insider information. But, I digress, as I typically do.  

So, during the pollen season, I do what I can to water and care for the containers that are outside until the sneezing takes over.  New installations have come to a halt.  As the itchy eyes and runny nose continue, I’ll come back inside and “over-curate” my houseplants.  As I’ve written before, I consider myself a “plant curator”.  Someone to organize and manage the houseplants, to inspect them regularly, discard those not doing well, and on top which every serious plant enthusiast needs to be, well, on top of.  Strategically placing plants, which ones go together for maximum effect, which sizes and shapes provide repetition and contrast, or need to be separated so they can pose and stand out.  That’s important.  Types of containers also factor into the display process.  Some have a white theme, although in recent years I’ve been using unglazed terracotta to dramatic effect.  This same principle applies to my outdoor containers, though they’re all a light yellow from the pollen. Decisions, decisions.  They don’t really keep me up nights, but to the serious collector/curator of plant collections, it could.  At the very least, I could devote more time to becoming a “plant influencer”.  I’m assuming that term would refer to people that spread their knowledge and expertise far and wide through blogs, podcasts, and social media postings.  Although I’m a bit older, I see no reason why I couldn’t provide this essential service for plant and garden enthusiasts across the globe.  I could translate this blog in dozens, nay hundreds of languages, adding pictures and using dramatic fonts and lighting.   The next chapter could be just beginning, particularly if I win the lottery. Then I can free up time for my creative juices to flow (and trips to some of my key local suppliers for containers), leaving the day-to-day management to my recently hired “assistant” curator.  I could be to plants what Rick Steves is to travel.  But, again, I’ve digressed.

Be well, my fellow pollen sufferers.  Soon, that yellow powder, those little feathery strings of seeds and other crispy signs of the spring allergy season will be gone.  We’ll be back, tending to our bed, borders, and containers with the exuberance for which we’re known.  Like the Black Plague and the Heartbreak of Psoriasis, this too shall pass.