Last year, during the spring, I planted in a long plastic pot rosemary, basil, and thyme. (Feel free to hum the song here.) In a regular terracotta pot, I planted mint. They all grew merrily and much cooking and tea-making happened.
Then we proceeded to have one of the hottest summers in decades.
We were hitting over one hundred degrees before the heat index. While summers here are miserably hot at times, they aren't usually quite like that. Apparently, the Earth decided to move closer to the sun for a few months.
Despite the harsh conditions, the herbs thrived, however, so long as I watered them every day without fail. Well, there was one scare during the Great Green Worm Plague in July when I discovered the leaves on my mint were starting to resemble lattice work. I flipped over a chewed upon leaf and discovered a small, green worm. I picked it off, cursed it, and tossed it into the yard. Then I discovered another. And, another. Over a period of two days, I picked fifteen of the little bastards off of my mint. I tried to figure out what they were or how they managed to get on a plant that sits on a pot on a brick wall, but their identification remains a mystery even now. All I know is it took several weeks for my mint to recover. Other than that, all was well.
Then, tragedy struck: I got sick.
I have a proclivity towards bronchitis, and it always seems to follow a cold. I don't know why a common cold will crawl into my chest and die, but it's something of which I have to be exceedingly mindful. Sometimes, I can head it off at the pass. Not that time.
For a solid week, I was in bed, which meant my plants didn't get watered. I suppose I could've asked my husband to do it for me, but I just didn't think about it. I was too busy trying to not cough up my lungs.
Let's just say when I went out to check on my plants after my recovery I discovered a graveyard.
Fast forward to March.
I went out to check the mail, and actually glanced down at the remains of my herbs. Then, I did a double-take. There was green in the mint pot, and I'm not talking mold. I picked it up and inspected the tiny plants. Mother Hubbard and her damn dog! The mint was coming back!
This was my first experience with an undead plant. When a zombie rises out of the grave, it's usually on the hunt for living flesh. Did this mean I needed to keep my fingers and small dogs away from it? Was it suddenly going sing a show tune about how I need to feed it a sadistic dentist? Mint has a bit of weed in it in that if you plant it in the ground, it will take over your yard and possibly the neighborhood. So, I wondered, when you have a plant that can invade like the Mongols and cheat death like Keith Richards, what do you do with it?
Sane people would probably suggest burning it.
I ignored it.
Several weeks later, this is what I got:
Braaaaaaaaains |
Me: Why no officer, I have no idea where she went.
Officer: Then, can you explain why there is a finger in your mint plant?
Me: I'm sorry, sir. I've told it many times that flipping off people is rude, but you know how plants are, no respect for authority...
Thankfully, the evil, tasty though it is, is contained for now.
However, if it does start using show tunes to demand blood, it will have a date with the grill.
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If you don't get the movie reference, then you lead a very sad, sheltered life. Although, the original was a far better film.