“I know. I know. I know. It’s a big ask. But I’m desperate. I had someone all lined up, but, now she has to go into hospital, and I’m leaving tomorrow.”
It’s my sister, Sally, on the phone. She’s booked to go to the US for a conference. She’ll be away for two weeks.
“Please,” she pleads. “You know I can’t pull out. I’m a keynote speaker.”
“I dunno. It’s a big responsibility. What if I kill some of them?”
“Look. I’ll leave you very detailed instructions. You’ll be fine. Just do your best.”
Silence from my end. The truth is, I haven’t been feeling great lately. Depressed and broke. I just want to hole up in my own place and not see anyone.
The pause lengthens, but I know she’ll not give up. She knows I’m unemployed, so I can’t use work as a reason.
“Simon,” she says, and her voice has taken on a wheedling tone. “I’ll give you anything you want as long as you’ll do this for me.”
Another long pause as I rack my brains trying to figure out how I can get out of this babysitting job without Sally refusing to speak to me ever again. I rely on the big sis quite a lot. Her PhD might be in Botany, but she is pretty good at understanding people too.
Then wham! She finds my weak spot. “How about I shout us both tickets to ColdPlay when I get back?”
And that’s how, later that day, I find myself trudging up her path, scowling at the Daphne planted just beside her front door. I know the name of this one because nearly every house built in New Zealand before 1960 has one. Before I can open the door, Sally flings it wide and envelops me in her usual bear hug. “I knew you’d come through for me,” she breathes into my ear.
I inhale the musky, earthy smell of Sally’s house. If you shut your eyes, you’d think you were in a garden centre. Today, there’s a tantalising mix of ginger. Sally has gone all out to show her appreciation. A fresh batch of ginger crunch, my favourite sweet treat, is cooling on the bench. Before I can reach out for one, Sally is waving a sheaf of papers under my nose. “I’ve got all the instructions written here, but I’ll take you for a walk-thru first. We might as well start here in the kitchen,“ she adds, immediately drawing my attention to these furry leaf plants on the kitchen window sill. “You shouldn’t need to water the African violets while I’m away. They’re good for two weeks. But if you think they look a bit dry, place the whole pot in water for a few minutes. Make sure the water is at room temperature. Don’t water from the top, as water will make the leaves turn brown. Be careful though. Overwatering is their biggest enemy. Keep them out of direct sunlight but don’t move them off the window sill.” Sally rattles off these instructions like a sergeant-major, before nudging me into the dining room.
Sally calls it the dining room because it has a table and chairs, and occasionally, she eats there, but in reality, it is like a giant fernery. The shadiest room houses many of New Zealand’s 200 ferns, on which she is the expert. I listen halfheartedly while she lovingly describes ‘her babies’ in detail. By the time we get to the living room, my eyes are already glazed over, and I’m desperately wondering how I’ll survive for two weeks. Some of the plants in here must be rotated 90 degrees every day, and others must be watered on varying schedules. When she describes how I should polish the leaves on some plants, I’m ready to explode. We haven’t even got to the two bedrooms and the bathroom, let alone the patio and the porch, each of which has its own specialties.
Suffice it to say that when Sally left after she’d insisted I did a run-thru guided by her expansive notes, I was ready to curl up in a ball and never look at another plant again. On day 2, I grudgingly dragged myself out of bed and ‘did the circuit,’ as she called it. Nothing was dying, but the plants did not seem to be showing much appreciation. Ditto on Days 3 and 4. By now, I’d eaten all the ginger crunch, and I couldn’t be bothered to cook. But on Day 5, inexplicably, I found myself somewhat looking forward to the task. On Day 6, I was actually – singing ‘A Whisper, a whisper, a whisper, a whisper’- as I turned and watered and polished.
By the second week, I found I was miraculously beginning to enjoy myself. Maybe there was something in this theory regarding the healing properties of nature after all. I was surprised to discover I was no longer desperate for Sally’s return, but almost dreading it. Then the bombshell hit me. I could create my own botanical haven. The only thing holding me back was my lack of funds. Do you know how expensive plants are? I wanted plants instantly. I wanted them now. You might be asking, “Why didn’t you take some of Sally’s?” I’m not an idiot, and I knew she would notice the absence of any of her babies, and of course, I would be the only suspect. Again, “Why couldn’t you have asked her for some?” Maybe it was my pride. Maybe I wanted to keep my private garden as a secret sanctuary. Whatever the reason, I found myself, later on Day 6, in a large garden centre wearing an oversized raincoat and carrying a capacious shopping bag. I seized on some great specimens of African violets, pink and purple. They disappeared without trace into the two side pockets of my raincoat. Next, it was an Aphelandra Snowflake. It was almost not like stealing, as it had been reduced from $35.45 to $24.82. I could feel a theme coming on, and soon, the Bergenia Wanaka Snow was nestled into the bag. A Hebe Snowdrift completed the trio. Then, feeling a desire for some colour, I found the sweetest little red and purple fuschia, which I was able to secrete around my person. It was almost too simple, I told myself as I arranged the treasures in my own apartment. I felt so good. Whether it was the effect of the plants upon me or the high from the successful ‘shopping’ expedition, I did not know. What I did know was that by now, I had a reasonable idea of the conditions each plant would need. I planned on a visit to the rival plant centre the next day. I could hardly wait.
My second foray into a nursery, after I had completed the circuit for Day 7, was equally successful. On this visit, I concentrated on the fernery. Three species of Blechnum caught my eye. I could just see them thriving in hanging baskets in the bathroom, enjoying the humid atmosphere. Blechnum Minus, Blechnum Montanum and Blechnum Novae Zelandiae shared the shopping bag companionably. This time, a Podophyllum Pink Arrow and a Philodendron graced my coat pockets while the divine scent of a Gardenia emanated from my chest pocket.
However, although I was feeling quite smug about my growing nursery with little financial outlay, I was a little disappointed that, so far, I had only been able to lift and conceal quite small plants. Most were in a PB3-sized pot. I desired, rather I needed, some plants with greater size and impact. The answer came to me while researching exotic plants in the library. I was already lusting after some of the magnificent display plants when a man in overalls came in, picked one plant up and placed it in his trolley. I sauntered casually over and engaged him in conversation. I learned that he was employed to provide and maintain the plants in the offices of banks, accounting firms, government departments and retail premises. He regularly rotated plants or removed some to give them special attention so that they always looked their best.
On Day 8, I attended to Sally’s plants, dug out an old pair of overalls with a nondescript logo and purchased a trolley from the garden centre I had visited on Day 6. Nobody seemed to recognise me. I resisted the impulse to acquire any more plants from there and proceeded to put my plan into action. My first stop, at a foreign bank, yielded me a Lemon Lime Dracaena. I found the shape of this rather whimsical and appealing. On the same street, I found an office with a stunning Ficus decora, commonly called the rubber tree and a Monster deliciosa or Salad Plant. As these were all in 10-litre pots, the trolley was quite heavy, and I decided to call it a day.
There was now nothing stopping me. I could visit two or three places in a day, still having time to look after Sally’s plants. On Day 9, I was thrilled to find a Frangipani in flower at an up-market dress shop. It was even in a very attractive ceramic pot. Perfect for our sunny porch. Of course, I never visited the same premises twice, but there were still plenty to choose from in our town. I had a slight twinge of conscience when I uplifted a beautiful Bird of Paradise from the hospital waiting room on Day 10, but I knew it would look better in my living room. As I left, I explained to the security guard that some of the buds had been broken off by over-boisterous children, and I was going to trim it. As I tended to it that night, Chris Martin was singing Fix You. It felt as if the universe was approving and telling me as well, ‘I will try to fix you.’
With more successful visits on Days 11 and 12, I was clearly far below the notice of the bank clerks, the receptionists, the secretaries and the office workers who saw me going about my ‘job’ in plain sight. My apartment was filling up nicely, and I was feeling better, stronger and more confident each day. With every new plant, my mood improved, and I began to research, so that I could make a shopping list before venturing out. Luckily, I found that when a more exotic plant was unavailable in the garden centres, it could be found in the Botanical Garden. Soon I became quite adept at surreptitiously slicing off a promising shoot. Cacti were some of the easiest to pilfer and transplant, although, for obvious reasons, I avoided the very prickly ones. The Crested Coral Cactus was an especially lucky find. I was now quite accustomed to carrying a sharp knife on my outings, and fortunately, Sally had so much potting mix and superfluous pots, that I knew she wouldn’t miss what I took.
On the morning of Sally’s return, I decided to make a last visit to the garden centre. I was eager to acquire a Begonia. There were several on display, and I looked longingly at them, wondering which one could be slipped most easily into my large pocket without attracting attention. When I had made my decision, I looked around to see if the coast was clear. But, no, a smiling gentleman with an air of authority, was making his way towards me. “Impressive, aren’t they,” he beamed. “I see the way you look at them with such pleasure. Are you knowledgeable about plants?”
“I’ve no formal training, but I’ve been working with Dr Greenslade for a while, and I’ve picked up quite a bit from her, “ I replied.
“Really? Dr Sally Greenslade? She is really well-known internationally, “ he said admiringly.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve been looking after her houseplants while she’s away in America,” I continued.
“I say, you aren’t looking for a part-time job, are you? We’ve a notice in the window.” He leaned over to talk more softly. “To tell the truth, we’re having a bit of a problem with shoplifters, so we want more eyes on the merchandise.” Then more loudly, “And as customers are quite likely to ask for advice, it is preferable that you have some botanical knowledge.”
I chuckled. “Well, I certainly know my Philodendron from my Podophyllum, and I’ve a lot of experience with African violets and ferns.
“That’s wonderful! If you are interested, would you like to come to my office and fill out an application form? With a reference from Dr Greenslade, you’d be a great asset to us. “
As I followed him to his office, I was wondering if I could ask him about the availability of staff discounts, but he interrupted my train of thought, asking eagerly, “When would you be able to start?”
“I’ll need to check with Dr Greenslade. She has first call on my time, but I can let you know next week. “
“I look forward to hearing from you. And please, take your pick from the begonias before you go. It’ll help you keep us in mind. I’ll tell the checkout girl, it’s on the house.”
I returned home to install the striking Begonia Mountain on my bedside table, where its textured green leaves with silvery white veins could be seen to advantage. The name tag attached to the pot assured me that it would add “ a sense of drama and sophistication” to my bedroom. I couldn’t help but agree that it brought “a touch of tropical elegance’ to the room, which was formerly lacking. After taking time to admire the new addition, I had time to attend to Sally’s plants before she returned. Indeed, I was just doing the final polish of the Monstera when her taxi pulled up outside.
Dr Greenslade was thrilled. She had had a marvellous time in America, met many interesting people, and her keynote speech had been very well received. She was even featured on local television. She was delighted that her babies were all healthy and still alive, and not only had I climbed out of my depression, but I actually had a job at last. She was only too happy to supply a reference.
The glow I felt with the knowledge of my secret garden did not lessen. Not surprisingly, it even grew, along with my collection of plants, after every payday. True to her word, Sally bought us tickets to ColdPlay. On a balmy summer evening, waiting for the concert to begin, I couldn’t help but tell her about the new plants coming into the garden centre. As the band came onto the stage, Sally passed me a slice of ginger crunch and whispered, “Simon, never underestimate the healing power of plants.”
What happened was... 