NEW NOUNS: ZZ Plants

My thumb is dead and brown, but my ZZ plant is green.

I think my mom is a witch.

Like not a scary lure you with candy and murder the children witch.

But like… the way Radagast from Lord of the Rings is a wizard.

A little magic.

Mostly just plants.

Everything that enters her house lives a completely unrealistic lifespan.

Her last four dogs were each about 100 pounds, and all four lived over 16 years.

She rescued a days-old baby mouse from a fallen nest, named it Fivel, and almost set the world record for the lifespan of a domesticated mouse.

I have literally given her a “plant” that had long turned into a stick stuck in dry dirt only to visit and see that it had grown into a full, lush, happy house plant.

My grandmother was this way too.

And I don’t think I got that part of the family DNA soup.

Everything that comes into my house dies.

Blame it on the light.

Or the watering schedule (or lack thereof)

But I’m pretty sure it’s me.

THE NOBLE ZZ PLANT

If you’re anything like me and, for some reason, are on some arbitrary high horse about fake plants, buy a ZZ Plant.

They have them at Trader Joe’s sometimes for astonishingly cheap.

I just got a giant one today for $12.

It’s two feet tall.

Badass.

Among thousands of plant options, they stand alone.

Pretty. Green. Good size. Generic enough to never get old.

And they never seem to die.

Like the best part of every other plant combined.

They’re the honey crisp apple of plants.

I have three now.

Maybe I’m just alphabet biased.

Be good.

zz