Today as I was ripping out old stalks and leaves without
mercy or precision from the dozens of Red Hot Poker plants (kniphofia uvaria)
that grow around our house, I realized… These things must be suffering from
some plant-form of Stockholm syndrome. I mean, they’re held captive within the
confines of my yard, neglected and abused, yet they grow like crazy. They’re
peed on by the dog, gnawed on by the donkeys, and everything short of
water-boarded by me. The ground is dry and rocky in the summer, and half
flooded and rocky in the winter. The only thing they can count on are the
rocks. Believe me, the grass is both figuratively and literally greener on the
other side of the fence.
A four-man landscape crew with implements of perfection and
a full array of plant-spa services show up every week across the street, and
the Red Hot Pokers never cry out. They bloom and attract hummingbirds for me
each summer, gathering moisture from God only knows where to keep the hummers
happily humming. They grow so well I’m constantly hacking them in half with a
shovel and replanting chunks of them in places that other plants have given up
on… and the chunks flourish. As fast as they grow they could easily grow
themselves into a giant “SOS” that could be seen from a passing airplane… but
they don’t. They could commit suicide like so many other plants in my yard
have… but they don’t. A hydrangea shot itself in the head just last week.
Yes, they’re definitely sick. Not from pesticides, or
chemical fertilizers like the poor lush green perfectly pruned plants across
the street. No, they’re clearly sick with some sort of mental disorder… but in
their weird way, they seem to like it here… and we like having them.
