Planter (pronounced plahn-tah (U) or plan-ter (non-U))
(1) A person who plants (usually seedlings, shrubs etc).
(2) An implement or machine for planting seeds, seedlings
etc in the soil.
(3) The owner or manager of a plantation.
(4) In historical use, during the era of European colonialism,
a colonist or new settler.
(5) In historical use, any of the early English or
Scottish settlers, given the lands of the dispossessed Irish populace during
the reign of Elizabeth I (1533–1603; Queen of England & Ireland 1558-1603).
(6) A decorative container, in a variety of sizes and
shapes, used usually for growing flowers or ornamental plants.
(7) In the slang of law enforcement and the criminal
class, an individual (from either group) who “plants” incriminating evidence
for various purposes.
1350–1400: From the late fourteenth century Middle
English plaunter (one who sows seeds),
an agent noun from the verb plant, the construct being plant + -er. Plant was from the Middle English plante, from the Old English plante (young tree or shrub, herb newly
planted), from the Latin planta (sprout,
shoot, cutting) while the broader sense of “any vegetable life, vegetation
generally” was from the Old French plante. The verb was from the Middle English planten, from the Old English plantian (to plant), from the Latin plantāre, later influenced by Old French
planter. Similar European forms meaning “to
plant” included the Dutch planten,
the German pflanzen, the Swedish plantera and the Icelandic planta.
The use of “plant” to describe heavy machinery and equipment emerged in
the mid-nineteenth century, based on the ideas of something being “planted” in
place and immovable (like a planted tree).
As technology evolved, use extended to non-static equipment such as heavy
earth moving vehicles but the exact definition now differs between jurisdictions,
based variously on purchase price, function etc although the aspect of most
practical significance is often the threshold to qualify for certain taxation
advantages such as accelerated depreciation.
The –er suffix was from the Middle English –er & -ere, from the
Old English -ere, from the
Proto-Germanic -ārijaz, thought most
likely to have been borrowed from the Latin –ārius where, as a suffix, it was used to form adjectives from nouns
or numerals. In English, the –er suffix,
when added to a verb, created an agent noun: the person or thing that doing the
action indicated by the root verb. The
use in English was reinforced by the synonymous but unrelated Old French –or & -eor (the Anglo-Norman variant -our),
from the Latin -ātor & -tor, from the primitive Indo-European -tōr.
When appended to a noun, it created the noun denoting an occupation or
describing the person whose occupation is the noun. Planter is a noun; the noun
plural is planters.
The figurative sense of “one who introduces, establishes, or sets up” dates from the 1630s, picked up a decade later to refer to “one who owns a plantation, the proprietor of a cultivated estate in West Indies or southern colonies of North America” although in the latter case it was literally the “planting of seeds” for cropping rather than the idea of planting the “seeds of civilization”, a notion which for centuries appealed to the defenders of European colonialism and echoes of this attitude are heard still today. The mechanical sense of a “tool or machine for planting seeds” is by 1850 dates from the 1850s. The “planter’s punch” was a cocktail mixed with Jamaican rum, lime juice and sugar cane juice; first mentioned in the late nineteenth century it fulfilled a similar role to the gin & tonic (G&T) under the Raj. The now familiar use to describe a “pot for growing plants” is a surprisingly late creation, apparently named only in 1959 although such devices obviously had been in use for centuries, such as the “window box” attached to the sills outside windows in which folk grew either something decorative (flowers) or useful (herbs or miniature vegetables). The form “window box planter” is now used in commerce; something which seems a needless addition. A church planter (also as churchplanter) describes a missionary, preacher or organization which travels to establish a church in a place where no congregations of the relevant denomination exist. The tactic is most associated with Evangelical Christianity. In Cebuano (an Austronesian language spoken in the southern Philippines), as a back-formation from planteran, planter is used as a noun to mean “a frame-up; a false incrimination of an innocent person”. The Cebuano verb planteran was also from the English plant and was used to mean “to arrange fraudulent evidence to falsely implicate someone in the commission of a crime”. An often un-mentioned aspect in the career of Neville Chamberlain (1869–1940; UK prime-minister 1937-1940) was his early career as a planter. Dispatched by his father Joseph Chamberlain (1836–1914) to establish a sisal plantation on Andros Island in the Bahamas, the younger Neville proved a tough imperial pioneer, toiling for some six years in the Caribbean but the climate was uncooperative and the soil proved no more receptive to Neville's attempts at appeasement than would Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) two generations later. The sisal project ended in failure with the family fortune suffering a loss equivalent (in 2024 values) to some US$8-9 million.
Bollards, raw and disguised.
Dealing with terrorism is of necessity a reactive business and in Western cities, bollards appeared sometimes within hours of news of the use of motor vehicles somewhere as an instrument of murder, either as a delivery system for explosives or brute-force device to run down pedestrians. Because of the haste with which the things were deemed needed, it wasn’t uncommon for bollards initially to be nothing but re-purposed concrete blocks (left), often not even painted, the stark functionality of purpose limited to preventing vehicular access which permitting those on foot to pass with minimal disruption. They’ve since become a fixture in the built environment, often is stylized shapes (centre & right) and urban designers have been inventive, many objects which function as bollards not recognizably bollardesque, being integrated into structures such as city furniture or bus shelters.
Bollards disguised as planters.
Urban planners have however responded and the large-scale
planter box, which had for some time been a familiar sight in cityscapes, has
proved adaptable, able to be shaped and placed in a way which obviates the need
for conventionally shaped bollards. Where
the space is available, even small green spaces can be installed and, with
integrated drip-feed irrigation systems, maintenance is low, an additional
benefit being the lowering of temperature in the immediate environment, the foliage
reducing radiated heat. One popular
feature of the big planter boxes in many cities is that they include built-in
benches on which people can sit, something seen in squares, malls and
plazas. Not all support this
however. Retailers think people should
be in such places only to shop and giving them somewhere to sit makes them for
the time they spend unproductively inert not able to go to shops and spend
money. There’s also the view such things
attract an anti-social element who loiter with nefarious intent and there is still
a view by some in authority (based apparently on some English case-law from the
1960s) that in public spaces, while people have the right to walk up and down,
there’s no right to stay in the one place, sitting or standing. So, planters with seating presumably are provided on a case-by-case basis: in nice respectable suburbs which are
well-policed, planters have comfortable seats in the shade while in low income
areas where the police appear only to respond to murders, serious assaults,
armed robbery etc, the built environment is designed in such as way that to
sit anywhere is either uncomfortable or impossible.
Planters with an integrated bench on which people can sit are a feature of the street architecture in Canberra, Australia. Pictured here are several on Lonsdale Street, Braddon.
However, even when planters offer a comfortable spot on which to rest, dangers lurk, especially if one is at the time tired and emotional or at least a bit squiffy. Shortly before midnight on 8 February 2024, the honourable Barnaby Joyce MP (b 1967; thrice (between local difficulties) deputy prime minister of Australia 2016-2022) was observed sprawled on the sidewalk mumbling obscenities into his phone, having fallen from the planter where he’d paused to gather his thoughts. The planter sits on Lonsdale Street in the Canberra suburb of Braddon, a short distance from a bar popular with politicians. The Daily Mail published footage of the remarkable scene, the highlight in some ways being the conversation the former deputy prime-minister was having with his wife, the lucky soul who captured the scene reporting the uttering of “dead fucking cunt” (the phrase a not infrequently ejaculated part of idiomatic Australian English).
Vikki Campion (b 1985) and Barnaby Joyce (b 1967) on their wedding day, 11 November 2023. In a nice touch, the couple's two children were able to witness the ceremony.
In answer to enquiries from the Daily Mail (past masters at identifying
those “tired and emotional”), Mr Joyce’s wife confirmed she was the interlocutor
and her husband was referring not to her as a “dead fucking cunt” but was “…calling
himself one.” “He likes to self flagellate” she added. She further observed it was disappointing that
rather than offering assistance to someone sprawled on the ground in the dead
of night, someone would instead film the scene but the witness confirmed Mr Joyce
seemed “relaxed & happy”, in no obvious
distress and conducting his phone call calmly, using the wide vocabulary which has helped make him a politician of such renown. Responding later to an
enquiry from the Daily Mail, Mr Joyce admitted the incident was “very embarrassing” and that had he known
“…someone was there with a camera, I
would have got up quicker.” Explaining
the event, he told the newspaper: “I was
walking back to my accommodation after parliament rose at 10 pm. While on the phone I sat on the edge of a
planter box, fell over, kept talking on the phone, and very animatedly was
referring to myself for having fallen over.
I got up and walked home.”
Commendably, Mr Joyce seems to have made no attempt to blame the planter box for what happened but a Murdoch outlet did report that "...privately he was telling friends he was taking medication you cannot drink alcohol with and that was the cause of the incident". Left unexplored by Sky News was whether that implied (1) knowing that, he hadn't taken any alcohol that day and the episode was induced by a reaction to the medicine or (2) he had taken a quantity of alcohol and the episode was induced by the combination of strong drink and the pharmaceuticals. He later clarified things, confirming the latter, after which he announced he was "giving up alcohol for Lent".
The honourable Barnaby Joyce MP, Lonsdale Street, Canberra ACT, February 2024.
Mr Joyce should be given the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps recalling Lyndon Johnson’s (LBJ, 1908–1973; US president 1963-1969) observation of Gerald Ford (1913–2006; US president 1974-1977) as someone “so dumb he can’t fart and walk at the same time” (sanitized by the press for publication as “chew gum and walk at the same time”), Mr Joyce may have thought it wise to sit on the planter while making his call. Unfortunately, when one is tired and emotional, the challenge of using one’s phone, even if one sits a planter, can be too much and one topples to the ground, a salutatory lesson for all phone users.
Among serious & cynical observers of politics (the adjectival tautology acknowledged), the consensus seems to be this latest incident in Mr Joyce's eventful life will prove beneficial and he'll likely increase his majority at the next election, the rationale for that being politicians tend to benefit from being seen as “authentic” and few things seem more authentically Australian than going to a bar, spending a few hours giving it a nudge, then falling off a planter box on the way home. People can identify with that in a way something like the essay discussing "faith in politics" and the example set by anti-Nazi preacher Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906–1945) which Dr Kevin Rudd (b 1957; Australian prime-minister 2007-2010 & 2013) published in The Monthly (October 2006), just doesn't "cut through". The essay was politely received as “earnest”, “thoughtful” and “worthy”, few apparently prepared to risk retribution by pointing out it was also derivative, taking 5000-odd words to say what had many times over the years already been said (which, in fairness, can be said of many works). Still, it was shorter than might have been expected so there was that. The sanctimony in the text would have surprised nobody but it was only after he was defenestrated by his colleagues that some, musing on the the policies his government implemented, decided to point out the hypocrisy of him asserting Christianity “must always take the side of the marginalised, the vulnerable and the oppressed” and that politicians should uphold “the values of decency, fairness and compassion that are still etched deep into our national soul”. Mr Joyce's many and varied sins are (mostly) well documented and “ordinary Australians” (as politicians like to call us) seem still willing to extend to him the Christian virtue of forgiveness. Of Dr Rudd, they probably prefer to try to forget.
