Just a Gal from Glidden: Local publisher roasts petunias

By Kate Winquist

As I look up from my office desk, I see the beautiful greenery of a succulent plant. No, it wasn't purchased from one of our area greenhouses. I am embarrassed to say that it isn't even real. It seems the only plants that survive in my presence are plastic.

I've tried to have plants over the years.

When Robert and I first moved in together in 1997, I received a housewarming plant from my Mom. It was a lovely dieffenbachia plant named Olive after the wife of former Prime Minister John Diefenbaker. Mom thought she was pretty clever with that one.

Young love, old plant. Kate and Robert at their house in Shaunavon in 1999, with Olive the dieffenbachia stretching toward the ceiling behind them.

Oddly enough, Olive survived us for several years.

The plant grew to quite a height and every so often you'd wake up in the morning to find Olive lying flat on the living room floor because she had become top heavy during the night. Apparently even houseplants can throw themselves dramatically to the ground for attention.

Dieffenbachias are poisonous, so after Devin was born in 2002, we gave Olive to our friends Jim and Rose in Medicine Hat. I figured it was best not to have a toxic plant around a toddler who put everything in his mouth.

In the years since, I have not managed to keep many plants alive.

Thankfully I had better luck raising children.

A year after Devin was born, we ventured off on a summer holiday. That spring, we had spent a small fortune on hanging baskets and flowers. We watered them faithfully and admired them daily like proud first-time gardeners.

Before we left, we moved all the flowers into the garage where it stayed nice and cool. We wouldn't be gone long. They should be fine.

There was just one problem.

Our garage was a converted lean-to and the air conditioner sat underneath the step. Before leaving, we forgot to turn the air conditioner off.

When we came home, the garage felt like a convection oven. The plants had literally cooked.

Not wilted.

Cooked.

I'm honestly surprised we didn't return to a visit from the local fire department and a headline in the paper reading: "Local Publisher Roasts Petunias."

Last year, I decided to try again and purchased a lovely philodendron. Apparently they are easy to look after.

According to Better Homes and Gardens, philodendrons are "possibly the easiest houseplants you can grow."

Well.

Challenge accepted.

You guessed it. It didn't make it through the season.

To be fair, this time it wasn't entirely my fault. Robert killed it with kindness. He decided to give it a healthy shot of Miracle-Gro.

Miracle-Gro.

At this point, it would take an actual miracle for Robert and I to grow anything besides weeds and debt.

We haven't purchased flowers yet this year. At the moment, we have two self-watering planters sitting on our deck filled with topsoil.

The little plastic succulent on my desk has now outlived every real plant we've owned.

Meanwhile, the planter on the deck is doing just fine as Robert's ashtray. I won't let him smoke in the house.

That might kill a plant.