Beyond the occasional half-forgotten act of "the pouring of some water in there"… I know absolutely nothing about horticulture. My percentage of Plant Knowledge would be somewhere into the negative integers, is what I am saying!
And yet I have somehow managed to be the owner of a plant that refuses to die.
His name is Robert Plant.
And no matter the magnitude of ignorance I level at this thing, it continues to thrive -- for years now.
I bought this little inches-high plant at a grocery store, like about five years ago -- and the thing continues to not only "live" but it seems to thrive.
And climb up the wall.
You can't see the current outcropping in this picture, but Robert Plant, after climbing up to the ceiling somehow, is now trailing off and making his way across the top of my fridge.
If he ever makes it to the inside of the thing, I am definitely going to gently suggest that he should start helping out with the grocery bill. This plant is crazy.
It refuses to die, even though my cat Kennedy, [see him in the background, waiting?] regularly eats any of the leaves that droop low enough for him to reach up and gobble them.
The process is called "selective pruning" and/or -- "survival of the fattest"!
I've only changed the soil once, years ago. I am a terrible father to this plant, and yet… it lives.
I would not at all be surprised if one day I arrive home unexpectedly early from work to the sound of clinking beer bottles, overflowing ashtrays everywhere -- and girl-plants running out the door wrapped in towels! My towels! A naked Robert jumping back into place against the wall whistling the opening to Stairway To Heaven with a guilty look on his leaves.
Kennedy will be laid back on the couch yonder, with dilated pupils.
Dazed and confused, stoned out of his cat mind on second-hand [or maybe even first-paw] smoke.
Many thanks to West Metro Mommy Reads for hosting this Saturday Snapshot meme.