For years, scientists have debated whether plants communicate. They hook electrodes up to their leaves to measure changes in electrical conductivity and then argue about whether those fluctuations constitute “communication”.
Hell, they could have just asked me. Plants talk to me all the time. It’s getting them to shut up that’s the problem.
It happens every time I go into a store where there are plants for sale. I’ll be walking along minding my own business when suddenly a beautiful voice whispers, “Hello, Diane. I’ve been waiting for you. Come a little closer…”
I fight the compulsion even though I already know I’m doomed.
But I can’t help it. I have to obey.
Against my will, my head turns. All sensors lock on. My feet can’t help but follow.
And there it is: A plant, seductively waving its vivid greenery, or worse, shamelessly flaunting its magnificent flowers.
I try to turn away. I remind myself of all the other plants currently crowding my house, but it doesn’t work.
Some people complain about having a black thumb, but I have exactly the opposite problem. I have a green thumb. On steroids.
I can bring home a tiny half-dead stick of something-or-other, and within minutes it morphs into a monster that expects gallons of water weekly and the sacrifice of a suckling pig every full moon. The ferns cascading six feet over the ledge in my dining room started out as a single 4” sprig in a gift basket years ago. The nine-foot-tall variegated fig that overshadows the dining room table arrived as a cute little housewarming gift no bigger than a bonsai. And don’t even get me started on my entire wall of Christmas cactuses. (But I have a rare yellow one – how cool is that?)
My point is, I know better. And it doesn’t stop me.
I stay away from greenhouses, but the big-box stores do me in. They put a display right at the door so I can’t avoid it. The plants’ voices are clear and sweet and utterly irresistible.
And they’re on sale.
This week I came home with two orchids from Home Depot (a hardware chain). They were in cute little coloured pots, and they were only $6.50! Never mind that I already had four orchids blooming in my office. I didn’t have those particular colours. And they were on sale! Did I mention that?
A few months ago I went to IKEA with a very specific list of household items. Got the items. Also got a red anthurium. And a couple of the cutest little palm trees, because apparently I haven’t yet figured out that plants with the word “tree” in their names tend to grow into, well… trees.
Before that, it was cyclamens. From Home Depot again. I have to stop going into that place.
More to the point, I have to acquire some device that can block the telepathic transmissions of plants. Or else get a frontal lobotomy.
But I’d rather have a bottle in front of me. And flowers blooming in my office.
Please tell me I’m not the only one who hears the voices…
But wait – there are the Singing Plants of Damanhur. Oh, look, I’m not the only one who hears the voices!