I decided to raise a few perennial herbs in pots on my porch this spring. I’ve had little success raising this group of plants in the garden itself, party due to inexperience with perennials in general; partly due to laziness about keeping the weeds at bay. The vegetable garden itself is a good seventy yards from the house, a situation which frequently leads to crop loss when I get distracted by the demands of my job. Growing culinary herbs in pots right outside my kitchen door would make them so handy for cooking that I would be pruning the plants constantly, and their high visibility would encourage me to keep any weeds pulled.

I rounded up my large terracotta pots, cleaned them and put them to soak in water overnight. Most experts recommend planting herbs in twelve-inch pots. I only had three of those, so I compromised and dug out a few ten-inch pots and one eight-inch. I told myself that I would make up for the lack of root space in the smaller pots by watering more often. As usual, since I’m too cheap to buy potting soil when I have a few acres of it free for the digging, I began loading my turkey roasting pan with soil and sterilizing it in the oven. (For information on sterilizing soil at home, see: Colorado State Extension Service) I spent a happy half hour or so buying the plants I wanted at a seasonally-operated roadside plant stand that I pass on my way to and from the grocery store: sage, Greek oregano, mint, Italian oregano, thyme, and rosemary. They didn’t have any regular chives, so I decided to try garlic chives instead. (I’ve had bad luck trying to raise chives from seed.) I drove my little plants home, gave them a good soaking, then began moving them to their permanent homes.

Our soil tends to be on the sandy side, so I like to put a one-inch layer of soggy peat moss above the drain shard in my pots to keep the soil from washing out of the hole over time. The sterilized dirt I got from our woods was mixed with a little homemade compost and a handful or two of perlite. I upended each plant from its six-inch pot, examined its roots for pests, then plunked it into the big pot and watered it in. I parked them on the porch where the roof overhang would shade them during the heat of the day for the first week or two.

When I finished, I stood back and admired them: they looked positively Continental--the damp terracotta contrasting with the different shades of green leaves. I picked a leaf of mint and chewed it, thinking about the iced tea I would use it in later. I plucked a sage leaf, rubbed it between my fingers, then sniffed the oil. I could almost taste the breading on the fried chicken. As for those garlic chives, I would use them in a potato salad that very evening!

Imagine my disgust when I stepped outside the following morning and found that all the work I’d done the previous afternoon had been destroyed. Nearly every plant had been uprooted and tossed aside. Some animal had dug into the soil in each pot, scattering it about the porch. The only pot left undisturbed contained the garlic chives. I hastened to gather my wilting plants and cover their roots before they became too dry. I swept soil and put it back into the pots. I put the plants back into their homes and watered them in again, hoping I had rescued them in time. The only plant that was too badly damaged to be salvaged was the little rosemary tree. As I worked, I played CSI.

Whatever had done the crime was larger and stronger than our cats. I found no cat droppings in any of the dirt, so I knew I couldn’t blame them for wanting a toilet area more handy than the gopher mounds they usually use. I found no trace of the peat moss I had layered into the pots.  Were raccoons attracted to the odor of water-soaked peat moss? I’ve heard stranger things. My repotting job substituted a layer of pea gravel in place of the peat moss.  I crossed my fingers and waited for nightfall.

We heard no telltale noises from the porch that night, but in the morning several of the plants were again unearthed, the potting soil scattered, including the previously-undisturbed chives. I had thought of additional suspects: opossums or skunks. I didn’t detect any skunk spray odor on the porch, but that does not necessarily mean one didn’t do the damage. I found no paw prints in the dirt that again carpeted the porch, so I was unable to assign blame.

Drastic measures would be needed to salvage my modest dream.

I repotted my violated plants again and found elevated spots where I could place each pot. I wasn’t certain that this tactic would protect them, as raccoons are known to be good climbers, but I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Taking them indoors was out of the question. In the first place, the house is too small and the light in there is too dim. Secondly, I wasn’t interested in growing and eating “hothouse” culinary herbs. I was after the authentic, dusty, sun-drenched products, such as one might find in a southern Italian courtyard, or in a hillside garden in Greece.

The following morning I was pleased: raising the pots off the porch floor worked. I wanted to give them a permanent, secure, elevated place. I decided to build one.

Simple approaches usually work best when one is in a hurry. I designed a bench in my head, and jotted a list of angle-iron, two-by-fours, two-by-twos and screws. My husband and I picked them up at a home-improvement store after work the next Friday. The next day, I bullied him and our son into helping me build it. The result is a crude, but sturdy structure that is more than adequate to hold seven or eight large potted herbs. I slathered all the wood surfaces with Thompson’s Water Seal and let it dry for twenty-four hours before I put it to use.

The herbs thrived in their airy perch. The only casualty was the Italian oregano, whose pot was an irresistable napping spot for the cats. They crushed and smothered the plant in a matter of hours. I left the pot where it was, dead oregano and all. They obviously needed a place such as that and if I took it away, they were liable to use another pot of still-living herbs. The fact that elevating all the pots resulted in no more vandalism by wild animals probably eliminates raccoons as perpetrators. Opossums can climb, as well, so I decided it must have been a skunk.

Before first frost, I plan to bury the pots up to their rims to keep the plants’ roots from freezing over winter. Until then, I can step out the back door in the middle of meal preparation and pluck fresh, fragrant, flavorful leaves to enhance whatever we’re having that evening. Even with the setbacks and additional work, it was all worth it.