Wagon-wheel container was worth a few bruises

The first gardening I ever did on my own was in a container.

I planted a pepper plant in a 10-inch pot and stuck it on the porch roof out the second floor window of the small apartment I rented right out of college.

The pepper did predictably poorly and the final insult was when a squirrel took a big chunk out of the one minuscule pepper it produced.

My first stab at container gardening was a failure, but it set the hook for a future as a gardener, and in particular one who likes container gardening.

One of the great advantages of containers is that they can be changed out seasonally for a fresh display. And although I love a bright summer container, winter containers are a close second.

Winter containers can be as complicated or simple as you like, and you can create them for free or bust the budget on a complicated masterpiece.

I’ll admit that I like to go a bit over the top with at least a few containers every winter.

This usually involves a variety of greens purchased at a garden center or even online and some “fancy” branches that are typically brighter and more interesting than the standard roadside fare. And occasionally there are actual structures involved.

That’s where I get into trouble, and this year my winter container nearly sent me to the emergency room.

I’ve used a metal hoop wrapped with lights in my window box for many years and this year I decided to double down and put a similar ring in another large container.

I employed the rim of an old wagon wheel and tasked Mr. Much More Patient with devising a way to make it stand upright. (Threaded rods, washers and bolts were called into service.)

But what I hadn’t anticipated was the weight of a wagon wheel rim and just how difficult it would be to get one that was about 4 feet in diameter into a 3-foot tall container by myself.

I’ll spare you the play by play on my near death by wagon wheel, but after dodging an Achilles tendon injury and enduring bruised calves, I got smart and asked for some help.

The result — a container consisting of a the wagon wheel, about half a tree worth of fir branches, curly and fantail willow branches and southern magnolia leaves topped off with hundreds of lights — was definitely worth a few bruises.

 I like it almost as much as the last container I “planted,” which was made from dogwood branches saved from last year and spruce tips cut from a nearby tree.

It cost nothing to make, took 15 minutes to put together and made no attempts on my life.

And that’s the beauty of winter containers — be they feats of structural engineering or slap-dash efforts made from what’s around, they all bring color and interest to a gray landscape.