Houseplants...
...When greenery takes over the house.
I have come to the conclusion that rather than being eaten by cats in old age, I am going to be ingested in the near future by the elephantine spider plants that grow ever bigger and seem to multiply overnight.
I am positive that these monsters are turning carnivorous and that one day someone will find a bone where I should have been. I have stopped short of calling them all Audrey a la Little Shop of Horrors as I feel it will only encourage them further.
Despite these fears, they compel me to ensure their comfort and ability to keep expanding. I have bought more compost from the garden centre, along with several small pots and two enormous ones. The larger pots are to re-home the grandparent plants which hang ominously over a shelf at the top of the stairs. One of these has managed to poke its slightly obscene looking roots above the soil as well as having them bursting from the bottom of the container. I pick it up and am promptly poked in the eye by a leaf. Baby plants dangle off long, yellowish stems as I struggle down the stairs, shedding soil and leaf debris, while the plant waves its foliage in protest.
When I try to dislodge it from its current pot, it refuses to budge. Wedged fast, I bang the pot on the kitchen floor. I look down at the tiles waiting for them to crack and a chasm to open. All is quiet and still.
Eventually, I manage to move the plant into its new, spacious home. Indignant for a moment, its leaves rustle as I try and wedge new soil into the gaps. Once the grandparents are rehomed, I move down to the next generation.
By the time I come to the multitude of babies, I am exhausted. Wrestling with greenery requires more strength than I anticipated. The babies have been in various jam jars of water growing roots. I lay them out. My estimation of 6 plants was wildly optimistic; there are 11 siblings. I haven’t bought enough pots. My belief in the sanctity of other life forms takes a wild nose dive as I bung the strongest looking in pots and chuck the remaining ones in the bin. Feeling like a murderer, I check the older generations have not seen my crime. I have a vision of these juveniles climbing out of the bin on their straggly roots in the dead of night to enact their revenge as I lie dreaming in my bed.
It’s hard to believe that three generations of spider plants who now require their own mansion began as just two babies from my friend, H.
There is a lesson to be learnt here - if someone offers you a baby spider plant, just say no.
I get some comfort from the thought that if the mutant spider generations do try to gobble me up, I can make my escape up the geranium, which has now reached Jack-and-the-beanstalk sized proportions and can definitely lead me to a cloud beyond any murderous leafy tendrils.