Proud Owner of a Monster Fern

My friend, Kathleen, is downsizing and moving to Cincinnati. Slowly over the past few months she has been sorting through her extensive collection of books, furniture, kitchen items – deciding what to take, what to sell, what to give away. It's a huge job. I know. I did it three years ago when we moved to Farm Dover.

And because I know how easily possessions can pile up, I have been especially mindful about purchases. The last thing I want is a cluttered house -- or any more cluttered than it already is. But when Kathleen put out a SOS for help finding a good home for her spider plant and fern, I responded. I thought Mary might like a plant for her new home in Lexington and I figured I could find a spot for the fern on our back porch.

When I said "yes," I didn't know what I was bargaining for. I swung by her house over the weekend and found the spider plant waiting on her front porch, as promised. It was sitting on a waist-high wicker plant stand, which I could hardly see; it was a huge plant with about 50 baby spider plants hanging down to the ground. It looked more like a muppet convention than a plant. It barely fit in my car.

Once I saw the spider plant, I should have been suspect of the size of the fern. Kathleen suggested that I bring the truck -- and Ed, to help me lift it. She volunteered her dolly to help move it. We somehow managed to get it into the back of the truck and unloaded onto our back porch.

I'm a little worried about the commitment I've made. I mean, this is a living thing. It needs watering, feeding, loving. Kathleen mentioned that it likes to come inside for the winter months. Yikes! What have I gotten myself into? I feel like I might as well get a dog and some chickens.

The closest I've come to this kind of commitment (besides my three children) was when Mary was nine and her piano teacher gave her a sourdough starter for Friendship Bread. Mary and I diligently added one cup each of sugar, flour and milk every five days, with bread baked and extra started shared every tenth day. One night, the starter escaped the plastic baggie and ran all over the counter. That was the end of our commitment to the sourdough starter.

I hope I do a better job of taking care of Kathleen's monster fern. Wish me luck. And let me know if you have room for a winter resident.