So THAT'S Done

Well, today was the day. To be specific, the day we had to move the plants inside. This is an annual event and I hate it, mostly because it's hard although Mr. Moon really does all the heavy lifting and he operates the dolly. But it's not just the physical effort, it's the stress of trying to find places for all of the plants in this house which has little direct sunlight coming through windows. I'm not quite sure why this is so stressful for me, but it is. It always seems like it's going to be such a monumental task that I put off even thinking about it until we get a weather forecast like the one we're getting now. 

Friday just doesn't seem to fit in there, does it? I cannot remember the last time we had that many sub-freezing temperatures in a row here. I don't know what's wrong with me but this is really making me a little anxious. I don't think we're going to freeze to death or anything but I guess in my ongoing psychosis involving me wanting everything to be routine and "normal" all the time, this does not fit the pattern. 
Billy and I were discussing this via text a few days ago and he said that the worst part for him was that he has to go places this week which means he'll have to put on actual clothes and he does not have any that are warm enough to be appropriate for public wear. He works from home. 
"M'am, I don't even know where we keep the socks," he said. 

God, I can relate. 

Can I go all week without having to go to the store? Or will I just put on my overalls, Goodwill cashmere, velvet coat and "fur"-lined Crocs and do my shopping? 
Stay tuned. 

Anyway, now I have house jungles. 

And here are some random plants placed in corners and otherwise unoccupied spaces. 

How much do you love my "art work"? 

That last picture is from the dining room and the biggest plant there in front of the fireplace is a banyan tree and yes, it is way too leggy and I need to trim it. Poor thing. I really shouldn't have it in a pot. When they are allowed to grow in their natural habitats, they can become hundreds of years old and look like this:

But Kathleen gave it to me and I'll not be getting rid of it. 

In that picture you can also see an avocado plant which I gave in and dug up from the compost pile and put in a pot. I think it will die but I just had to give it a shot. If you look carefully, you can see some monstera plant leaves. Do you remember when I found a plant stand and a pot with a monstera in it at the dump and the attendant said that if I wanted, I should just go ahead and take them? Well, those dang plants have lived up to their name if by "monstera" you mean "monster." I now have two rather large ones in big pots that I had to cut the roots from before Mr. Moon could free them from the porch. One stalk of one of the plants broke off in transit and damn if I haven't stuck it in water and that's what's under the banyan tree. Like- I NEED more plants, especially monsteras. 

When we had brought in all the plants we were bringing in, I said, "And we'll have to move them back out in spring and do this all over again next winter."
"And we'll be seventy then," he said. 
"Seventy and a half," I reminded him. 

He got invited to a pheasant hunt this afternoon and left soon after we got the plants in. I was not thrilled at the idea of anyone shooting pheasants. After all of these years I'm still not at peace with hunting. I try to be. I really do because I know how much it means to him. Sometimes though, I'm a little bitchy about it. 
Surprise, surprise, right?
As he was leaving he said, "Look up some recipes for pheasant!" 
"No," I said. 
"I love you!" he called out.
Sigh.

He's home now and I asked him if he'd caught any pheasants and he allowed as how he had indeed caught a few pheasants. I use that word- caught- because it sounds better than shot. Who am I fooling? No one and especially not me. 
I am thinking that I will take one of his pheasants, put it in a quart mason jar (it'll fit after it's plucked, right?) and turn the jar upside down and say, "Here- Pheasant Under Glass. Enjoy."

You know I won't. 

I have no moral authority here. I eat meat. Let us not fool ourselves that a wild pheasant's life is of more importance than a store-bought chicken's. 
And besides, he moves those plants for me twice a year and he does not care a thing about them. Oh, he appreciates what they look like and admires their growth but if I wasn't here, he wouldn't have a potted plant to his name. 

There's the Roseland mango in the area between a bathroom and the pantry. Poor baby. It desperately needs more dirt and some fertilizer and a better location when it's outside. I have sorely neglected it and although benign neglect works well for most plants in my experience, there is a line which can be crossed and I have crossed it with this beloved plant which I started from a seed that came from a tree that I ate mangos from as a child. 

I picked a few more camellias because this time next week, I'll be lucky if there are any viable buds still on the trees. There probably will be. They are not as cold-sensitive as the azaleas.

Life will go on. 

Love...Ms. Moon