a terrifying cautionary tale
I've been putting off writing this journal entry and that means that what you've suspected all along is true: I've not been a very attentive plant owner over the last month or so. I will proceed to share my sad tale in an effort to educate others and as a balm for my troubled conscience. But be warned: this story will chill you to the very marrow.
gothic element one: over-confidence and boasting
After a rather uneventful last few years as a plant-owner, Gayla so kindly asked me to write a journal on this site. Because Gayla is a smart person with a whole lot of thriving plants, I jumped to the conclusion that she thought I must know something about vegetation too. Drunk with power, I bought species that I had previously killed in the past. Yes, I hadn't much clue as to how I was supposed to care for them. And yes, living conditions hadn't changed a whole lot around here (I still live in the same low-light apartment and not, for example, a Mediterranean villa), but I knew that my new plants wouldn't die because I wrote a plant journal. Fern-schmern! I could handle anything. Not only did I expect it to thrive, but I imagined myself giving away thriving cuttings to others.
gothic element two: ignoring the dictates of god and society
I had the somewhat good sense to post on the forums and inquire about the care of such plants. So I knew that ferns liked to be misted daily and that I needed to move it to a brighter spot than the place it was. But you know, Christmas was coming and the fern didn't look that great right up near the light since I had the Christmas tree in its only logical place. Surely this slightly darker corner was okay for the short time I expected to have the tree up? Misting every day also required remembering to mist every day. Which was harder than the actual squeezing of the spray bottle. I knew too that the care suggestions were just guidelines. Which could be ignored at the discretion of a mighty plant journal writer such as myself.
gothic element three: things go horribly wrong
The fern began to kind of sink into the pot. Little yellow leaves fell off. And what the heck was wrong with the potted palm? Every second leaf was brown. Unusually dusty looking too. Everything was getting either too much or not enough water and I didn't have a lot of time to observe what the plants needed as there was too much Christmas craziness going on. I moved all of the plants close to the window and hoped that they would somehow self-correct. Then after deciding that the air was stale and we needed five minutes of brisk breezy winter, I opened the window, attended to a crying baby, made dinner, forgot entirely that the window was open, and woke up the next day to see one of my devil's ivies and half of a spider plant had frozen during the night.
Everywhere I looked, my plants accused with their droopy stems and lustreless leaves. Killer! Murderer! Over-confident plant journaler! I gave chase to my plants over the artic tundra, thinking I would die on the barren landscape before being picked up by a ship of idealists looking for a civilization of equality and . . . no wait. That's not my story, that's a different gothic tale. Okay. In my story I cleaned up as best I could and ran away to my parents for Christmas where my mom (a noted killer of plants) has somehow managed to create a green and thriving houseplant haven in one window. I ask her how she's done it and she tells me that she stuck with the plants that could take a little bit of neglect and that suited her house conditions.
gothic element four: the imperfect conclusion
After the Christmas tree came down I set up an old desk in front of the hallway window where my plants could catch a lot of indirect, bright daylight. I trimmed back the dead and dying and, after discovering that my potted palm was infested with spider mites, I cut away the dead leaves and have been spraying with diluted soapy water almost every day. The fern's getting its daily mist and I've noticed some hopeful new growth at the bottom of the plant. The spider's recovering from it's cold night, though sadly, I've had to say good-bye to the little pot of devil's ivy. My dreams of a large indoor garden by springtime are not going to come to fruition. With luck and attention I should be able to keep my remaining plants alive and growing.
I will probably try some further growing experiments, especially closer to spring, but I'm going to try to keep things on a much more manageable level so I can pay closer attention and make necessary adjustments before disaster is likely. And I will continue to tell my tale far and wide as public education and, as if you didn't already know, because I seem to love the sound of my own voice chattering away.
previous entry
| 
