green thumb at last? (fingers crossed!)

Growing up on the untamed frontier known as...Rural Maryland, I experienced the joys of cultivating the land, of watching seedlings sprout from the soil and grow to fruition, of reaping the bountiful harvest and savoring the tasty rewards for my labor. Nah, I'm just kidding! That was a big old bunch of...hooey....if I do say so myself. Let me tell you what really happened: my mother planted a garden in our backyard, with corn and zucchinis and cucumbers and green beans and tomatoes. Then she assigned her Field Crew (you guessed it: that would be... me) to weed the little buggers--I mean delightful vegetables--and pick them when they were ready for the dinner table.

And did I appreciate my first foray into this hands-on horticultural haven? Oh, sure, I totally loved the whole "communing with nature" thing, which in this case meant: sweating in the Summer sun; plucking at stupid sticker-bushes that insisted upon hiding near the roots of the beans, especially; swatting at the pesky flies that buzzed around my head. Yeah, what else would a pre-teen girl rather be doing with her school vacation? (Was that sarcastic enough? Should I have laid it on just a bit thicker?) My poor mother had to put up with my grumbling and whining every single time she sentenced me to Weeding Detail...but I have to say, when the zucchini crop inevitably exploded into baskets and buckets and bushels full of the little green guys, I certainly adored the endless loaves of zucchini bread that came out of it (as well as fried zucchini, and zucchini parmesan, and...whatever else you can think of to make out of squash.)

So, those are my...roots, if you will (sorry!) in the world of wild flora. I wouldn't say a strong--or even a particularly positive--relationship developed between me and the good old Plant Kingdom. In fact, when I moved out on my own, I learned to shun greenery of any kind. I had discovered very quickly that I had no aptitude whatsoever for tending even the simplest, least-needy houseplant. Anything that came within my reach would suffer a stem-shriveling, leaf-dropping death in a shockingly short period of time. It didn't matter what I did--water, don't water, fertilize, starve, place in a sunny window, shade from any semblance of light whatsoever--they all succumbed to the same fate. (I came to think of it as the Curse of the Cucumber, from all that complaining I did around the garden in my youth. Or Karmic Corn Consequences? Okay, I promise I'll stop...for now, at least...) And then for a while it didn't matter anyway, since apparently when you have a frisky feline in the house, leafy objects are simply prey, meant for stalking, and pouncing, and shredding. After a few incidents where friends brought us lovely potted plants as housewarming gifts, only to have our beloved cat hasten their demise in a very violent manner, we gave up on the idea of creating our own little indoor arboretum for the time being.

However...now the cat has moved on to another home, and we are finally free to nurture some nature inside the house. Given my poor track record, I decided I should definitely start small. (And, needless to say, inexpensive!) Just one miniature tabletop plant, of a variety that requires little direct sunlight (since it will reside in the center of the room, away from the windows) or care, or attention, or...special skills of any sort. (I actually laid it all out there for the lady at the nursery--confessing my inadequacies without shame. "Okay, here it is: I basically need a plant that raises itself." Bless her, she didn't judge--merely pointed me toward a hardy specimen and answered my silly questions about how not to murder it. Now that I think about it, I don't even know what kind it is...after all, I may not have it long enough to learn what it's called. Wait, that's just a defeatist attitude. So forget that, this leafy guy and I are bonding. I'm going out on a limb (ha!) and naming it...Charlie! (Wish him good luck, he's gonna need it.)