Lance Cheuvront posted: " Seasonal affective disorder. Appropriately named SAD. That is an absolutely accurate description of how I react when I am working on this or that project in the afternoon and I look up to see the sun already disappearing behind the decidedly low horizon "
Seasonal affective disorder. Appropriately named SAD. That is an absolutely accurate description of how I react when I am working on this or that project in the afternoon and I look up to see the sun already disappearing behind the decidedly low horizon to the west.
I grow sad. It is inexplicable. Except that it isn't. We know what causes it, we know the symptoms and we know ways to combat it, to a point.
Would you like to come along as I self treat for battle with SAD today?
Great! C'mon.
I have a room.
Well technically we have a room. The room, which would technically be a fourth bedroom if there were that many people living here, is painted kermit the frog green and is about 100 square feet. The carpet is a generic taupe or khaki and we would very much like to replace it with maybe bamboo or something like that in the future.
The room contains our small collection of snakes, numbering eight in all, our Midland Painted turtle and our White's Tree frog.
It also, for the duration of winter, houses our rather extensive houseplant collection. How many plants, you ask? A lot. The collection hovers somewhere between eighty and eighty five plants currently.
In order to keep a collection like that healthy and happy, you need grow lights and we keep bulbs from a company called Sansi burning 14 to 16 hours a day. They are LED bulbs and are nowhere near as bad on electricity as one might think.
The upside to this is the bulbs are full spectrum, mimicking daylight and when working in there I feel a sense of normalcy, a sense of well being and I catch myself singing to myself and I can actually feel my spirit lifting and my mind getting sharper as I get things done.
So tonight was feeding time for the snakes. As I was thawing out frozen rodents, I took the time to examine some of the plant collection. I made notes in my horticultural specific journal about things I wanted to look up, things I have discovered and how specific plants are doing and what might help them do better.
Tonight actually offered me a delightful moment of discovery.
A plant was gifted to me by my dear friend and fellow plant junkie Barbara Huffert this past fall.
It is a massive thing, spreading at least seven feet wide and through a bit of research I discovered that it was called Thaumatophyllum xanadu. I was excited to have it because I thought it would make a wonderful focal plant and a beautiful addition to our semi-portable jungle.
It resided outside in the yard until the nights got too cold for it and then we moved it in. For the last 5 weeks or so it has been adjusting to being indoors and seems to be doing well. It's massive dissected leaves are actually quite attractive and have a definite tropical vibe.
I was delighted last week to discover that it was putting out a new leaf and I am so pleased that it is healthy enough to put forth that kind of growth.
But tonight, as the snakes were downing their dinners I was comparing the leaves of my Xanadu to photographs of plants online and I discovered that my earlier identification was wrong.
It turns out that what I have is a young specimen of Thaumatophyllum bipinnatifidum, colloquially known as the lacy tree philodendron, selloum, or horsehead philodendron.
This, ladies and gents, is a whole other ball of violets.
This damned thing is going to get massive.
Trunk-like vines up to eight inches thick that can stretch out for a dozen feet, winding and climbing along structures or even travelling along the ground.
Gigantic, deep green leaves that can reach 1.5 meters in length and the ability to attach itself to walls, trees, and other structures through the aid of thick aerial roots that anchor the plant as well as mine for water and nutrients up to a dozen feet away from where the plant is growing.
All of this sounds daunting but I am currently excited like a little kid!
For a moment I felt like Dr. Ellie Sattler in Jurassic Park. A paleobotanist looking at a primitive plant that might have existed in some form millions of years ago.
And so as I am standing there in awe, I tip the massive four gallon pot that the plant is in away from me a bit and see something at the bottom of it.
Lifting it free from its drainage tray I see heavy, thick, healthy looking roots coiling like Chinese noodles out of the holes in the bottom of the pot.
Note to self: this one must be repotted soon. The option to wait until spring is off the table. So that goes into the notebook in big letters. "REPOT JURASSIC PARK PLANT!"
I sit back down in my folding chair and I gaze at the plant and then let my eyes drift around to the others. My Monstera deliciosa is doing its very best to compete in the size department and my two massive Begonias are starting to adjust to it being winter.
The two baby coffee trees did not survive the transition from outdoors to indoors but that is part of the learning curve and I try to never be too harsh on myself.
The Guava tree, the Curry tree and the other eighty some plants seem to be thriving.
I find myself sitting back, closing my eyes and just breathing in the oxygen rich air and enjoying how warm the room is and basking, like the snakes and the plants in all of that light...
Three weeks will bring us to the shortest day and longest night of the year and then we will begin the slow march toward spring, but I know what to do. I go into my green room and I let the plants remind me that we will all make it.
And who knows, maybe a couple more little green guests will be added to the family between now and then…
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