Our four kids grew up, got married, and started families of their own. By all accounts, this means my husband and I are empty nesters. And if that means no more noisiness in the house and feet pattering around and hot water running out, I suppose that's true.
But we're not quite finished yet. There's one more left here, one more offspring I've tended and nurtured for years, one more progeny that needs to move on because he, too, has outgrown the place and needs to find a better home. His name is Frank, and I'm offering him to the person who will pledge to take good care of him.
Before I'm reported for child neglect, I have to add that he's not actually a child. "Frank" is short for "Frankenplant," the name my kids gave him. And I'm looking for a home for him because, well, he's outgrown this place. How big is he? Well, in a six-by-six room, he'd be touching all four walls. And this from a little 8-inch pot.
Frank came in a planter with two other plants. In time I transplanted them to three separate pots. The other two grew slowly into respectably sized plants. But Frank's another story. I think he considered his first pot a new horizon to be met and surpassed, which he did. So I bought him another pot, not recognizing the psychology of plants like him, and he immediately set out to surpass that one as well. It seems as long as I bought a larger pot, he kept growing.
I stopped buying him larger pots, so now he's shooting out these strange root-like appendages from his major stem. I read that he's trying to anchor himself somewhere. I'm worried that if they actually get to the carpet, he's going to weave himself right into the house.
Frank's official variety is Monstera Deliciosa. Yeah, pretty weird. He's stunning. His leaves are like giant hearts--the largest one measures 2 ¬½ feet across. Strangely enough, the leaves have holes and gaps in them, beautifully and symmetrically spaced. I thought maybe those gaps let the sunshine filter down to the lower leaves. My husband guessed maybe they keep the leaves from being beat to pieces during hurricane storms that happen where this kind of tropical plant grows naturally. About every two or three months, another green spire grows up out of the stem by the latest leaf, and slowly starts to unfurl. (One is being "born" right now). The magnificent new leaves are born already full grown. They're light green and kind of fragile, then transform into a sturdier, darker green. Meanwhile, the plant moves and shifts to accommodate the latest leaf, so all the leaves get as much sunlight as possible. It's fascinating to watch.
So having said all that, how on earth am in going to just chuck this plant into the garbage can because he's outgrown my house? No way. There has to be a place for him.
So here's the deal. Frank needs practically nothing beyond weekly watering, sunlight, and an occasional word of deserved praise. In turn, someone gets major bragging rights because he's so distinctive that everyone who's ever seen him has been blown away. And they get a plant that would cost a bundle of money online or at the store. I know, 'cause I looked.
The one thing Frank does need is space--lots of it. I've walked through spacious places like hotel lobbies and gigantic office buildings and instead of being mesmerized by the enormity of the setting, my mind is clicking with, "Wow, Frank would love this place."
(Yeah, so I think differently than most. What else is new.)
So anyway, think of places and spaces like that. Think of going green in a major way. Think of a large building or lobby or doctor's office or business building or conference place. Think of having this magnificent, already grown presence that will make people stop and stare.
Email to tell me where Frank can live. We'll exchange pictures of what Frank looks like, and what his new space looks like.
This could be a total win-win for everyone--humans and plant.
Frankly speaking.
You can contact D. Louise Brown at maven_55@yahoo.com or leave a message at 625-4220.
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