Chapter One, Section Two

I know very little about gardening. But I love my houseplants.

My very first houseplant was an orchid. A pink phaelanopsis: a very easy orchid to keep. Since then my orchid collection has grown to five and they all live happily on my bathroom window. They also have names so I can identify them: Ophelia the original one, Mary Magdalen is deep pink, Sacajewea is yellow with a sunburst in the center, Anastasia Romanoff is a dendrobium who wishes she were a phaelanopsis, and the newest addition: Noname, white. Every day I mist and admire and check for new blooms or leaves or roots (such pretty silver roots). For a while I thought I accidently killed Anastasia Romanoff, but it looks like she's coming around again for another set of blooms.

I love all my houseplants but all don't have names. At least not yet. I have a tray of herbs growing in the kitchen and two ferns upstairs and a whole row of African violets. A few had rocky starts, but none of them have actually died, and none will any time soon by the looks of things. I had a hard time with the maidenhair fern for a week or so, because it seemed to dry out so very quickly. I think I have it under control.

When I said none of the other plants are named, I forgot about the peace lily. We call it the Penis. I won't go into that. Sadly it hasn't flowered since summer, but I'm hoping it'll feel more inclined once it gets a little more light. Winter months can be rough on houseplants.

For a little while I had one of my African violets down in the kitchen but it caught the dreaded aphids. I have no idea how. I almost thought I'd have to give up on it, but I cut off all the infected bits (meaning ALL the flowers) and took it upstairs again. It survived and once more overflows with flowers.

If I were a millionaire, I'd build a big terrarium and landscape it with beautiful plants, tropical and otherwise, and spend my days taking care of them.