Except living in the rainforest. Which is where I live. In the middle of Hingham, Massachusetts...which is not exactly where one would expect to find a rainforest.
I should mention here that I hate humidity. And bugs. Particularly spiders. Which means I am not really meant to live in the rainforest. But I don't think my landlord knows this. Probably because he didn't ask before he began transforming the house into a jungle bungalow.
After the great tulip disappointment of 2012 and the peach tree vs squirrel standoff, I thought maybe he'd just putter around his garden in the backyard, growing normal things like tomatoes and corn, maybe a little bok choy for the occasional chinese dinner night. And I was right. He did do those things.
But corn and tomatoes are boring. Anyone can grow those. And after the tulip disaster, he had something to prove.
So the exotic plants began arriving.
At first, I was able to ignore it...after all, the plants were on his side of the house (The house is a ranch style duplex) and some of them were even pretty. But then, they began creeping over to my side. Which was also ok with me until they began blocking my entrance to my front door.
You see, the soil in Massachusetts is not akin to growing plants that belong in a rainforest. So the exotic plants have to be potted. So, you guessed it, large pots began appearing all over the yard. And up my front steps.
One moonless, pitch black, rainy night, I come home to a burned out porch light. So I do what every other American would do in the situation, and pulled out my iPhone to use as a flashlight. But I didn't actually use the flashlight app, I just used the screen to make my way toward my house, figuring I was in familiar territory, so I didn't need a full light, plus my hands were full. I go to move up my front steps and immediately trip over something that definitely wasn't there when I left. I shine my phone at the ground and discover there are now flower pots leading up my steps. Which would have been fine if they had been small. But these pots were the opposite of small. They were taking up more than half my steps, which are not very wide to begin with, and the one on the landing was preventing me from being able to open my door more than half way. So by now, I'm wet and I'm pissed off that I can't even easily maneuver into my house any more...I manage to get myself inside and go back out to remove the pots from my steps.
That's when I discover that a large ceramic pot full of dirt that has been rained on weighs more than I do, and cannot easily be moved to a new location.
I do not think this was an accident.
I contemplate getting a sledge hammer out and smashing the pot so I could leave the pieces and the dead plant on his steps, knowing that would definitely get the point across. But, I don't have a sledge hammer. And, he had just run a wire that gave me access to their cable, which has all the movie channels. And I love HBO. So I reconsidered, changed out of my wet, soil covered clothes and decided to try to peacefully co-exist with my new plant friends who were taking over my house.
This was just the beginning...
At first, it wasn't so hard. After I got used to having to walk through my front door sideways, I got into a rhythm and I've almost stopped slamming my storm door into the pots every time I open it. (I may or may not have bent the door frame, however, with my initial accidental slamming...) And my landlord was very considerate in his plant choice...he planted many exotic plants I can't identify, but then he showed me that in the middle of them, he had planted a single sunflower, because in a moment of weakness, I told them they're my favorite. (Next year, I fully expect to be living in a field of sunflowers...) After he showed me he had planted these plants with my taste in mind, I couldn't very well complain that I was no longer able to gracefully enter my house.
But when I made the decision not to complain, what I didn't remember (probably because I've never actually been to the rainforest) is that exotic plants grow to be enormous. And they spill out of their pots and turn the simple task of walking up three steps into a complete obstacle course. Because the leaves are half the size of me. I could wear them as a dress, if I was at all creative or able to sew.
Or Lady Gaga.
With Autumn upon us, the air is cooler, the leaves are shriveling up, and I am hopeful the pots will disappear, I'll once again gain full access to my front door, and life will return to my version of normal...
Over the weekend, I made baked pumpkin donuts to welcome Autumn. It was very festive of me.
They were delicious.
I ate two, and took the rest next door. I explained what they were, and my landlord said, "Oh, you like pumpkin?" To which I replied, "I do. It's one of my favorite things about fall." I turned to go back to my house and he called after me, "Next year, I'm planting you a pumpkin patch!!!"
I should know better.
But fine. Just don't plant it on my front steps.
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