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I grew up in a jungle in the middle of Western Kansas. No, really I did.
It was a lush jungle filled with devil's ivy, hens and chicks, cacti, a
large philodendron named Fred, English ivy, yuccas, cast iron plants,
mother's tongue and dozens of violet plants. The jungle just so happened
to be the inside of my house growing up. My mom was one of those 70s
moms who loved macramé plant holders, funky iron stands and wicker
baskets full of plants. I remember when she used to stink up the house
by "cooking" soil in the oven to kill fungus and bugs. Or when part of
the living room was used to grow seedlings and you could see the humming
florescent lights from the driveway.
I used to think my mom was nuts. She’d “plant knap” dying and neglected
plants from fast food restaurants and doctor’s waiting rooms, so she
could nurse them back to health in our living room. She'd hog the tub
with her house plants that needed a good soak for the day. She'd spend
hours misting and watering our indoor jungle, until of course I was old
enough and it became one of my weekly chores. She'd play soul music and
disco claiming that the Supremes helped her plants grow taller. And we
named every single house plant as though they were our pets, our family
members.
 It’s horrifying how ironic all of this has become. I have turned into my
mother. I too have house plants all over my San Francisco apartment (15
last count) AND my boyfriend’s house (35 plants — the poor guy). I’ve
succumbed to succulents. I have an herb garden on the sunniest
windowsill. I have devil’s ivy and mother’s tongue plants on bookcases, speaker stands, a piano bench, on top of the toilet — basically anywhere
there is sunlight of any kind. Everywhere you turn, there are ferns,
ivy, succulents, and herbs — all fighting for your attention. And I love
it!
 To my boyfriend’s dismay I never visit without a new plant in hand. I
say I’m doing this for the benefit of his house, to bring fresh air and
life to a computer-specific, techno-driven gadget dwelling. But I’m a
big liar. I bring him plants so I have something to play with while I’m
there. So I can plant, prune, water, feed, repot and so on. I’ve got
green in my blood I suppose. Heck, I even have plans to build huge
planter boxes to border his entire deck so I can grow veggies and more
herbs.
I can’t go into a plant store and NOT buy something. They know me on a
first name basis at four different plant stores. Just today I bought a
living stone, a donkey’s tail and some garlic chives. I bought some used plant books on herbs, house plants and a fiction book based on a funny plant journal called
“Slug Tossing” by Meg DesChamp (which I’ll review in another
entry). And I’m starting a new section on my Web site, Grrl.com, all about house plants
and herbs. I’m obsessed, but at least it’s all about these silent green
beings that make me smile every time I water them. I play them Radiohead
instead of Supremes though. So I’m not completely like my mom - at
least, not yet.
Here's a collage of my plants.
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