buy and sustain my first houseplant

Well, I did it. This plant, the Devil’s Ivy, cannot be killed. But more importantly, I have not killed it. This “accomplishment” amounts to pouring a little water into a pot about once a month, and only being inspired to do so by extreme acts of droopiness on its part. But the facts stand. I made a goal of owning my first houseplant and keeping it alive for six months. Someone heard about this goal and bought me a Ficus. That was very nice of them, but I killed it. Or, at least, it died. Then some people on 43 Things suggested I buy a Pothos. That was very nice of them. I bought one. The woman at the greenhouse assured me that I couldn’t kill it if I tried. I didn’t really try, but I didn’t really not try either. I haven’t really paid attention to its care and feeding. I haven’t really paid attention to its light. Still, it lives. It is invincible. So I sort of cheated. But I won.

The other week I finally noticed that my Pothos was exhibiting the same mortal signs that San Ficus (patron saint of dying) once did. Acting all droopy and suchlike. So I watered it…for the fourth or fifth time, ever. Today I looked up my previous entry to see how long it’s been since I got the thing. It’s been three and a half months. And while I spend about three minutes per month caring for this plant, it entirely perks up whenever I water it. It gets cheery and lively, as if in visual celebration of all the attention that’s been lavished upon it. I cannot kill this plant. (I may end up wanting to kill it, because apparently it has the disposition of a cheerleader, and I tend to get along with the brooding poet types. Except for that one brooding poet of a Ficus, with whom I did not get along at all.) I also cannot in good conscience mark this goal as complete until I’ve sustained it for at least six months. I reckon that’s ten or twelve more minutes of goal-oriented attention, and my work here is done. I can handle that.

At the suggestion of some 43 Things users, I acquired a Pothos today. I asked the girl at the nursery if she agreed that they were easy to care for, and she replied, wide-eyed, “If you kill this…that’s impressive. They have these things in Mexican chain restaurants with, like, no windows.” Clearly, a plant nicknamed “Devil’s Ivy” stands a better chance of withstanding my neglect/abuse than the “Weeping Fig” now petrifying in the corner of my room.

The question is, am I a sell-out for choosing a Devil-nicknamed plant known for its popularity in chain restaurants, putting it effectively one step up from the plastic species? Maybe so. But my success is not guaranteed. A bit of research reveals that the Pothos of Greek mythology represented the longing towards an unattainable goal! And it gets worse:

Since the object of this longing could only be reached in a better, more perfect world, it comes as no surprise that Pothos was associated with death.

Whoa. Wish me lick. Actually, wish it luck.

One of my favorite ironies is the association of the color green with gardening and environmentalism. On the one hand, it’s an obvious choice: roses may be red and violets may be blue, but virtually all the other organisms (of the family that make their own food and don’t scoot around) are green. Green, green, green, everywhere you look. As the kids say, no-brainer. On the other hand, consider that plants have to efficiently absorb all the colors of the light spectrum beneficial to them, and reflect the rest. And that we see them colored by what they reflect, not what they absorb. Apparently, as a possible contributor to photosynthesis, green is the most worthless of colors; plants chew it up and spit it out. Green, I hate to tell you, but along with that proverbial vacuum, nature abhors you.

Maybe environmentalists should consider themselves red since it sits opposite green on the color wheel. That notion is funny it its own right because, when the red scare of Communism fueled America’s propaganda, environmentalists were sometimed dubbed “watermelons”, meaning that their greenness was just a thick skin concealing their red, red guts. So maybe realigning with red would seem too…confessional? Too retro?

In any case, besides green, my Ficus plant seems to have another enemy in the form of dehydration. This weekend I found it drooping in a quiet corner of the house as if it’d been cared to only once since attention was lavished on it during the holidays. Yes, I forgot, and then I forgot again, and then again. I finally watered it on Sunday but but it’s still all droopy…droopy like it means it. But you know when something is dead because dead things are brown (don’t ask me why), so I can tell it’s just under some sort of passive protest. As I mentioned in my first post about this goal, I don’t accept self-righteousness from plants, so I intend to prove to it that, despite its inept caretaker and all, things really could be worse and there’s no sense pining away for a better existence than the one right here, right now. (Communism never worked out in practice, right? There you have it.)

I will keep this plant alive, just to spite it.

Sweet. Someone learned I had this goal and got me a Ficus! But there’s a rumor going around that a Ficus once ran for public office. Not sure if the rumor stems from a movie plotline or something even more farcical (say, our 2-party system), but I will not tolerate political punditry from a houseplant. I’ll call it by its alias, the “Weeping Fig” tree. Sounds too sweet and mopey to, um, stump for anything.