As you all know, I love plants. Out in my garden, or inside my house. I love watching them grow and change. I love it when they flourish. I love sharing my space with foliage and blooms and roots.
I do not, however, fuss with my plants.
If you are one of my houseplants, I pay close attention to your light requirements, and I place you in the proper environment. You get water once a week. On Fridays. But only if you're really dry. In spring, when I'm more motivated, you might get a little plant food once in a while. Every now and then, I may re-pot you. I will pinch off your dead leaves and dust you when the mood strikes. I will give you music, some conversation, and some laughter.
Beyond that. . . well, you're on your own.
A couple of weeks ago, I was visiting our local organic market/health food store and I found this sweet little plant, growing on a mini-topiary form, and I couldn't resist. I brought him home with me.
This is not a good photo, and I am sorry about that. Sadly, it is the only one I have. The thing to note in this particular photo is that the plant is . . . alive. And thriving.
The care tag on my new little plant looked like this:
I put the little guy in my sunny, east-facing window. I gave him water; a good drenching, actually.
"Keep moist?" No. That tag should read . . . "Provide bog-like conditions for this plant. Water thoroughly every five minutes. Be sure there is Not One Particle of Dry Soil in this pot. Better yet, submerge the entire pot in water!"
Because two days after a drenching, this happened:
Crispy. Beyond all hope. A casualty.
At first, I was disappointed.
But now? Not so much. I have a cool pot and a topiary form. I'll find another plant to grow in its place. One that isn't fussy and won't require constant care. The adorable little angel vine? Not the right plant; not in my place!