The Edibles
Vegetable starts grown for the New Braunfels growing season. Tomatoes you'll actually pick, peppers that bite back, herbs by the flat.
A neighborhood nursery, grown one hanging basket at a time.
What started as a coach delivering plants to friends on their birthdays has spent the last forty-nine years turning into the most opinionated greenhouse in Comal County. We sell vegetables you'll actually harvest, trees that will outlive your mortgage, and advice that comes free with the dirt under your fingernails.
Before there was a Plant Haus, there was a list. A small spiral notebook full of birthdays and anniversaries belonging to friends in New Braunfels. Bob would wake up early, load a hanging basket into his truck, and his son Weston would ride along to deliver it before the school bell. Three or four years of this turned a hobby into a vocation. In the summer of 1977, Bob opened a 1,200-square-foot shop with a single greenhouse on North Walnut Avenue.
It never quite stopped growing. Weston left Austin and a business degree at the University of Texas to come home and work the bench. Today the original lot has spread to nearly two acres, with five greenhouses and a four-thousand-square-foot store. The notebook of friends has become a notebook of regulars — gardeners who learned the soil from us, then taught their kids to do the same.
We don't call ourselves the best. We just do a lot of good things. Whether they're spending ten dollars or a hundred, a customer is a customer. — Weston Pacharzina, owner
That's still the operating principle. We won't sell you a plant that won't make it through August. We'll talk you out of the wrong tomato variety. We'll show you which fertilizer to skip. People in this business probably bleed green — or brown — and after nearly half a century, ours is starting to show.
From the first jalapeño start of February to the last poinsettia of December, we keep the greenhouses full and the bench rotating. Here's the lay of the land.
Vegetable starts grown for the New Braunfels growing season. Tomatoes you'll actually pick, peppers that bite back, herbs by the flat.
Native and ornamental specimens chosen for Hill Country soil and Hill Country deer. The kind of woody investment you make once.
The product that started everything. Color, foliage, and texture put together by hand — front porches a specialty.
An ever-changing wall of indoor foliage and a serious succulent bench — including the rare and the deer-uninterested.
Premium FoxFarm blends right alongside no-nonsense budget mixes. Bagged mulch, compost, and a wall of fertilizers — organic, natural, or conventional.
Bulk seeds by the scoop. Heirloom packets you won't find at a big-box. And in season, live ladybugs to set loose on your aphid problem.
Better to break ground for a flower bed when it's fifty degrees outside than a hundred and fifty. Texas heat is not a tool. Plan in fall, dig in cool, plant in spring.
If the bottom of your fruit is rotting before it ripens, that's blossom-end rot. Not a bug, not a fungus — a calcium uptake problem. We can point you at the right amendment.
A plant raised within a hundred miles of where it'll live transplants better than one shipped from a different climate. We grow what we can, and source the rest carefully.
A nursery doesn't translate to a website, no matter how nicely we build one. The plants are out there, the cats are usually around, and the staff is happy to talk you through your soil. We'd rather see you in person.
Bring your tape measure. Bring a photo of where it's going. Bring a kid if you've got one — they get to meet the resident shop cat.
In 1989, Bob bought a property in Kerrville and opened Plant Haus 2. Same family, same philosophy, different soil. The Kerrville store moved to a new building on Jefferson Street a few years back — cedar porches, vintage tin roofing salvaged from a 1930s Hill Country cabin. If you're heading toward the river country, stop in.
Same family, same commitment to local growing — built a few decades later in the heart of the Texas Hill Country.
Most plants don't die — they're killed. Usually by good intentions. Here are care notes for the plants we sell most often, written for New Braunfels soil, New Braunfels heat, and the deer-and-drought reality of the Texas Hill Country.
Solanum lycopersicum
Tomatoes want sun, room, and routine. Set transplants in the ground after the last expected frost — usually mid-March in Comal County — and install cages or stakes the same day. They are miserable to add later. Mulch heavily, feed every two weeks once flowers appear, and pick a 60-day determinate variety so you harvest before the worst of July.
Texas summers shut down tomato pollination above 92°F. Plant early; harvest before the worst of July.
Blossom-end rot — the sunken brown patch on the bottom of fruit — is a calcium uptake problem caused by uneven watering, not a disease. Mulch and water on a schedule.
Capsicum annuum
Peppers love what tomatoes hate — actual Texas summer. Wait for the soil to warm (a couple weeks after tomatoes), then set them out. They'll keep producing through July and August as long as they're watered. Don't strip the leaves around the fruit — they're the plant's sunscreen, and our July sun will scald any pepper that's exposed.
Hot varieties — jalapeño, serrano, cayenne — are far more forgiving in the Hill Country than bell peppers. If you must grow bells, give them afternoon shade.
Stake them lightly. Plants top-heavy with fruit will split at the crotch in a Texas thunderstorm.
Lagerstroemia indica
The workhorse of the Texas summer landscape — months of bloom, peeling silver and cinnamon bark, and they survive on rainfall once established. Water deeply weekly the first year, then mostly leave them alone. Pick a variety sized to your spot: they range from three-foot dwarfs to thirty-foot trees, and a small one in a big spot will look like a haircut all year.
"Crepe murder" — whacking the trunks down to knee-high stumps every winter — is unnecessary, ugly, and weakens the plant. They bloom on new growth no matter what. Just thin out crossing branches and call it done.
Sophora secundiflora
A native that will thank you for ignoring it. Slow-growing, evergreen, and in early spring it explodes into clusters of purple flowers that smell exactly like grape soda — the surest sign of a Texas spring. Eventually becomes a small, sculpted tree. Loves our limestone and asks for no irrigation after the first summer.
Don't move it once planted — they hate transplant. Pick the spot carefully and commit.
Root rot from overwatering is the only thing that reliably kills these. Also: every part of the plant is toxic. Beautiful scarlet seeds — keep curious kids and dogs away.
Quercus virginiana
The signature shade tree of South Texas. Plant a five-gallon today, and your grandchildren will picnic under it. Water deeply once a week the first summer, then taper off. They handle our droughts. The catch is room — a mature live oak's canopy is wider than its height, so plant well away from the house and don't park, dig, or pile mulch within the drip line.
Oak wilt is real in Central Texas, spread by beetles attracted to fresh wounds. Only prune in deep winter (Dec–Jan) or peak summer (July–Aug). Never in spring. Paint cuts immediately.
Epipremnum aureum
The plant we hand to anyone who claims to kill everything. Pothos tolerates dim corners, occasional neglect, and most household conditions. Trailing vines will cascade off a shelf or — given a moss pole — climb upward toward the light. Snip leggy vines and stick the cuttings in a jar of water; they'll root in two to three weeks. Free plants. Trade them with friends.
Yellow leaves almost always mean overwatering, not under. When in doubt, wait another two days.
Monstera deliciosa
The split-leaf darling of every plant store on Instagram, and not without reason. Wipe leaves monthly with a damp cloth — dust blocks photosynthesis. Stake new growth to a moss pole; as the plant climbs, the leaves get bigger and develop the iconic fenestrations. Monsteras aren't finicky, but they're not hands-off either. They reward attention with absurd, dramatic foliage.
If new leaves come in solid (no holes), it's not getting enough light. Move it closer to a window — but never into direct sun, which will scorch.
Echeveria, Sedum, Mammillaria
The killer is overwatering, every time. Succulents are built to store water — your job is to let them dry completely before the next drink. A pot without a drainage hole will rot a healthy succulent in a week. Indoors, give them the brightest window you have. Outdoors in Texas, morning sun with afternoon shade keeps them from scorching in our July heat.
If your succulent stretches tall and pale toward the window, that's "etiolation" — it needs more light. Move it brighter; treat it as a warning, not a lost cause.
Nephrolepis exaltata
The classic shaded-porch plant — and one of our most-sold hanging baskets every spring. They demand humidity, which our July afternoons do not provide. Mist daily, water every other day in summer, and bring them inside the garage during deep freezes. Trim brown fronds at the base; fresh ones will replace them within weeks.
Crispy leaf tips mean humidity is too low or watering inconsistent. A pebble tray under the basket helps a lot.
Petunia × hybrida
The most reliable color in the spring nursery. Wave varieties trail beautifully from hanging baskets; bedding types stay tidy in flower beds. Pinch off spent flowers to keep them blooming, or shear the whole plant back by a third in mid-July when summer heat slows them down — they'll come back fresh for fall.
Hanging baskets in full Texas sun dry out fast. In the worst of August you may need to water them twice a day. If a basket goes completely crispy, soak the whole thing in a bucket for an hour — most will revive.
Walk into the shop with a leaf, a photo, or just a question. Forty-nine years of plants in this soil — somebody on the bench has seen what's wrong with yours.
Call (830) 629-2401