BYO Machete

This has nothing really to do with the hilarious (hiwawious) Emerald Nuts Superbowl commercial, although I would like to point out with MP that I want "Eagle-eyed Machete Enthusiasts Recognize A Little Druid Networking Under The Stairs" on a T-shirt. I laughed so hard I was producing dry, bronchial coughs afterward.

No, this post with "machete" in the title has to do with my apartment. In my little, limited square footage in the frozen wastelands of northern Indiana, there exists a jungle.

You might not notice it when you first set foot in the door. You might see a glimmer, a wave of green from the living room as you look down the hallway, but all in all the appearance is quite ordinary: A charming, old-fashioned apartment with a houseplant. Or two houseplants, if you look over your right shoulder into the dimly lit bathroom sporting a pothos on top of the cabinet. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But once you step into the kitchen, you might get an idea. A three-foot rubber plant guards the litterbox next to the refrigerator. A Christmas cactus droops quietly in front of the cookbooks. A nephthytis overshadows the napkins. An enormous dracaena brushes the bottom of the picture frame on the stand by your elbow. A pothos and another, weaker nephthytis loom from the top of the kitchen cupboards. A zebra plant rallies its spikes toward the bright, bare window opposite the sink.

Hm, you think. Well, kitchens are a good place for houseplants. It's bright. It's cheery.

Then you might turn around and peek into the bedroom. A young schefflera stretches toward the sun on the nightstand. A variety of sanseviera flourishes in stiff succulence on the dresser. A enormous cat palm and a stunted majesty palm bristle behind the door. A Janet Craig dracaena darkens the top of one bookcase.

Hm, you think. This woman may be a little odd. I think I'll retreat to the living room.

And that, my friend, is when you realize that you've left Kansas and landed somewhere in Malaysia.

Two huge palms and a thriving ficus dominate one corner. A lemon-lime dracaena and a jade top the entertainment center. A schefflera cutting lingers next to the coffee table. A three-foot "capella gold" schefflera glows under one window. A philodendron and a vast pothos trail from the tops of the bookcases. A cordyline adds a dash of purple to the top of the coffee table. And tucked away in the corner by the computer, a small rubber plant bravely sends up shiny new leaves.

Then you think, this woman is mad.

And you're right. As soon as I moved into my new apartment and fell in love with all the windows (I have two-directional light in every room but the bathroom -- my small, four-room apartment boasts eight windows), I began to cultivate my own rainforest. Call it the longing for a pet (B.C. -- before cat); call it the starvation to be surrounded by living things; call it the never-tamed love of the forest; call it what you will. But I have, to date, twenty-four houseplants, and nearly all of them have names.

I have high hopes for some of them. With proper care, Gregory the ficus could reach six feet (yes, my friends, it's a tree. They're going wild in Florida...fifty feet or more. You can't plant them outside anymore there; it's illegal). So could Cecil the "Capella Gold" schefflera and Maud the green schefflera. I'm defying odds with Sylvia the schefflera cutting (if you wonder why I love scheffleras, look them up, they're lovely -- they're also called Hawaiian umbrella trees), since they're supposed to be very difficult to propogate from stem cuttings. She's not thriving, but she's surviving. We'll see what happens. I've seen lemon-lime dracaenas and sansevieras reach enormous heights, so Cedric and Daniel have great potential.

And the best thing is, so far Simon has only eaten of Robbie the dracaena (whom I moved to a high place in the kitchen to discourage the gnawing. Robbie is my second-oldest plant and one of my favorites. I don't want that rotten feline to kill him); the rest he's left alone.

So yes, I'm crazy. But I probably have a high oxygen content in my living quarters (maybe this contributes to the crazy), and I definitely have the peace and tranquility one feels when one can look at lots of still, green, silently growing plants.

Watch out, though...I may turn into the plant lady from Minority Report and start growing plants that can attack at will, thus necessitating "Beware of Plant" signs on my property.

How awesome would that be?