For many years now, my nickname has been The Plant Killer of Death, which seems rather redundant. Since I gave the nickname to myself, I suppose I’m the only one I can legitimately blame, but Plant Killer of Life seemed nonsensical the day I was dreaming up aliases for floricidal maniacs. Actually, Killer of Life makes a lot more sense than Killer of Death. How do you kill Death? Especially in plants? I’ve killed cacti though, so I think that warrants an evil nickname.

Anyway, no more! I’m turning over a new petal. The house we moved into last summer has one of those fancy green house window things in the kitchen: you know, the ones where the window sticks out from the rest of the house by a foot or so and is enclosed by glass on all sides so that the whole thing catches the light. All winter I’ve been eyeing it, trying to decide whether or not to risk local plant life against my not-so-green thumb and actually try to grow something.

Well, with my current wild and crazy cooking kick, I finally decided a couple weekends ago to screw my courage to the sticking place and put in an unassuming little herb garden with basil, oregano, and cilantro (in case you are having literary frustration trying to remember where that “sticking place” phrase is from, it’s Macbeth; but small children may also possibly know it from the song Gaston sings at the end of “Beauty and the Beast” as he winds up the villagers to go kill the Beast). So now it’s ten days later and my plants are still alive! Yes, I know ten days is not very long, but my previous record was closer to three so I’m happy.

I also have a pretty little ceramic pot in the window box that my Handsome Hubby has been killing avocado pits in during his so far failing experiments at growing a tree. I’m thinking about throwing out his dead seed that’s been denied a proper burial for the last month and asking my Mother for another cutting of the ivy from my wedding bouquet that she’s been nurturing for the last eleven years and protecting from my seedling obliterating ways.

She’s actually given me at least three snippings in the past, all of which have fallen victim to my inattentive watering habits. Huh. I wonder if she still has any. I seem to vaguely remember something a couple years ago about the ivy’s health failing, but I don’t remember whether or not it became terminal. Of course, it’s very likely that I’ve filed this episode incorrectly since plant discussion typically shuts down all areas of my brain where cognitive thought resides until the conversation changes to something much more interesting like bunnies, politics or new shoes. Well, maybe not bunnies.

Last night I used a wad of my fancy new alive basil in our dinner (Big Basil Burgers), and I must say that was rather gratifying. I suppose it would be kind of like raising, butchering, and eating your own beef except without the raising and butchering part. So I guess it’s probably nothing like that…. Well, it’s satisfying on a very diminutive level nonetheless! Perhaps if I can keep these plants alive for another couple of weeks I’ll be ready to graduate to something really hard. Maybe I’ll get a cactus.
Rachel