Keep any plant long enough and your stories start to stick to them.
Some plants really need space below in order to thrive up top.
This is the story of my Rhaphidophora cryptantha, but it’s also about the International Aroid Society and how awesome plant people are.
The Devil’s Hand is my new favorite tree. There’s one blooming in the SF Botanical Garden right now.
Explaining carnivorous plants to Tom, who is four.
At some point in the last day or two, the clump of lilies disappeared, leaving only this hole in its place.
I found it at the bottom of a bag of garden stuff a few months ago, and decided to give it one last try.
It wasn’t much more than a stick with some roots, still circling an invisible pot.
A gagging sniff was all it took to confirm she was right: one or more of the bulbs was rotting.
I have a terrible admission to make: The Monstera I’ve been taking care of for over 15 years isn’t really mine.
Heather woke up when the tree came down on the bed, its long branches reaching out for an inappropriate botanical hug.