Nothing inspires more jealousy in me than a content, sedate, oxygen-gushing houseplant. I have had very few in my life. Mostly, I think, this is because I'm not very good about caring for them; I don't water regularly and there aren't a lot of sunny windows for them to bask in. But as the air grows cooler, I find myself becoming more of a kind and attentive mother. Our current roster is below, listed from most to least hardy:

Coleus (no scientific name; cutting was a gift from a friend) This thing WILL. NOT. DIE. - a great thing for an absentee owner like me! We've had it for about five years. The leaves are deep purple and fuschia in the summer, when it lives on the front porch; they fade to mostly-green in the winter, when we move it indoors. I've successfully started plants for friends by breaking off a stem and sticking it in some soil -- it's very reproduction-friendly. Sorry that I can't tell you the exact type, but I'd be glad to send you a cutting!

Purple Oxalis (Oxalis regnelli) Don't let the photo deceive you; I really tried hard to kill this one. I completely forgot about it for the first couple of months of the semester, and when I finally went to water it, there were only two sad spindly stems remaining. However, it has rebounded quickly in the Plant Hospital (the sunny basement window that seems to help just about any plant recover from neglect). The deep purple leaves are lovely, and you can see one lone flower starting to emerge from the center; they're light purple with long, sloping stems and delicate petals.

The cool thing about Oxalis is that they close up at night, folding neatly into what look like restful butterflies. In the morning, their leaves are spread out again, ready for more photosynthesis. They'd be a good plant for children to enjoy, as long as they're old enough not to put it in their mouths (oxalates are a mild toxin).

Primrose (I think? Maybe? Lost the tag) This was a hostess gift, and it's still here eighteen months after the guest departed! I'm vexed with myself for losing the tag, as it's a really lovely plant that blooms every few months or so (and more if I remember to deadhead). The flowers are a pretty bright pink, a sight for sore eyes in the drab brown days of winter.

Burgundy Ficus (Ficus Elastical Decora "Burgundy") I keep thinking this ficus is about to kick it, and then I see the magical burgundy spikes that signal the forming of a new leaf. There have never been more than 8 or 10 on the plant, but it stays healthy-looking all year (except when the temperature is too cool, as on the shady side of the house.)

Jade Plant (Crassula ovata) I was so excited to finally get my own jade plant, the one I had heard would survive a nuclear holocaust. However, as evidenced by this photo, I have done something terribly wrong. I know overwatering is a danger, so I've resisted until the soil is bone dry several inches down, then given it a thorough soaking until the next time; but somehow the leaves always seem to be dropping off, and the stems slump in defeat. A real blow to my gardener's pride!

So, there's the motley crew we're hosting here. What are your favorite houseplants? And do you have any tips for, um, making sure they don't die?

Is it ethical to harvest someone else's fruit, if it's hanging over the public sidewalk? We urbanites tend to be sensitive to each other's boundaries. I can hear my neighbor's toilet flush, after all. And so, we construct imaginary boundaries, invisible lines over which we don't cross.

But fruit is delicious, and thus merits special treatment. Here's my rule of thumb. If fruit hangs over a public space, like a sidewalk or park, it's fair game. If I have to reach my arm over a fence, that's trespassing.


The persimmons were barely legal.

NPR's Day to Day had an interesting story a while back about this form of foraging. Personally, I wouldn't feel justified in fetching a ladder. Even though the fruit 15 feet above the sidewalk is available, a ladder would make me look like a thief, or a peeping tom. Luckily, I found that I could fold up my umbrella stroller, and holding it high above my head, pluck the fruit without compromising my air of confidence. In such circumstances, one's soul should appear spotless.


Even I would not harvest these figs.

I try not to go overboard. I limit myself to a single fruit, or perhaps three if we're talking about Italian prunes. I avoid perfect apples for fear of pesticides. And I never take the last fruit.

Of course, the polite thing to do is knock on the door and ask. But sometimes they're not home, or you can't be bothered.

Some may be bothered by my cavalier attitude. For those humbugs, I recall the fodder radishes I grew as a cover crop last year.


One of them in the parking strip grew to several feet tall. I was just about to harvest one to feed to my chickens, when an elderly woman walked by. "Oh, I love that plant," she said in a thick Eastern European Accent. "What was it?"

"It's a fodder radish," I said.

"It's delicious. I take the leaves and cook them. My husband loves them."

She never thanked me for the leaves she'd stolen. She didn't seem to feel any explanation was required. And somehow, I didn't mind. I left the fodder radish in the ground an extra month before I pulled it out.

How about you? Do you have trees that overhang a sidewalk or street, or harvest from someone else's? What's your take on the respectful harvesting of foodstuffs from other people's property?

Some years ago, our species climbed out of the trees and retreated into caves. Personally, I've never gotten over it. I miss living with plants.

Maybe it's a sign that I'm disconnected from the landscape, but I'd love to live in a house covered with plants. A house like that would help me feel part of the natural world, rather than part of technology. After all, the city is technology - it's all about human-built systems, functioning at peak efficiency to replicate those functions formerly performed by the natural world. Don't get me wrong, I'm no luddite. I like technology. But it's not what I'm all about. I'm about leaf litter, and worms, and tomatoes, and all that good stuff.


Photo by Kıvanç, shared via Flickr

I'm not alone in my desire to live among plants. Many people want ivy to grow on their homes. And not just on houses. There's something about plant-covered walls that make large buildings seem inviting, approachable. Architects call this "bringing down the scale of a building." City planners respond to this need by requiring trellises on some buildings, especially on multifamily residences (huge blocks of apartment buildings). Builders respond grudgingly. Check out the pitiful cupful of dirt at the base of the trellis at left. I feel sorry for that plant.


Photo by City of Lynnwood.

When it comes to respecting plants, architects usually don't do much better than builders. They often draw elaborate trellises on their drawings. Then they'll draw some generic plants on their drawings and refer to them disparagingly as "growy things." The plants are an afterthought. Like on the beautiful trellis below: How would a plant even get up there?


Sometimes this is just self-deprecating humor, a nod to the more specialized field of landscape architecture. But it's also a response to the dire warnings of structural engineers, bricklayers, and all kinds of other contractors: Plants destroy houses. Ivy, for example, has little feet that pulls the weatherproof outer surface off walls, exposing the wall's vulnerable interior.


Photo by moplants.com


Photo by Christian Herman, St. Louis Brick

Other plants can damage buildings in other ways Wisteria pulls structures apart. Hedges trap moisture near wood walls, causing them to rot. Roots and vines will seek out a crack, then pry it open as the plant grows. Even my favorite little mountain flower, the saxifrage, comes from the latin meaning "rock breaker."


Saxifrage photo by Brewbooks, shared via Flickr

But some innovative designers are trying to break down that barrier between garden and home. They're using new techniques that allow plants to grow directly on walls, where a highly engineered layer of construction materials protects the wall itself from the plants. Below, the Musee du Quai Branly in Paris, France.


Photo by Markhillary, shared via Flickr

Below, the Millenium Village, U.K.


Photo by Thingermejig, shared via Flickr

In other projects, the plants are held away from the building on a stand-alone metal screen. Below, the Capitol Hill Library in Seattle hopes to be completely covered in vines some day. There are several inches of air circulating between the plants and the brick wall.


Photo by Johnston Architects, Seattle

In some places, you can do it without the building. Check out the "living wall" in the photo below. I don't know how these plants get the minerals they'd normally attain from the soil. But it sure looks cool:


Photo by Thingermejig, shared via Flickr

Growing plants on the roof also helps reduce stormwater runoff and cool down overheated cities. Works equally well on big stores and little garages.


Photo by Mountain Equipment Co-op, Toronto store, shared via Wikipedia


Seattle Architect Rob Harrison's garage

I remember reading an essay by E.B. White from his collection, One Man's Meat. He had recently retired to a small Florida town near the Everglades. He described how, down there, plants thrived in every crack in the sidewalk, consumed buildings on the edge of town. In short, nature would consume this village in a heartbeat. The moment the citizenry put down their machetes, they'd be buried in greenery.


Photo by Eric I. E., shared via Flickr

There's a the old frontiersman's fear of wilderness in that observation. But I think White also admired that wilderness for its tenacity, its fecundity. Personally, I find nature's resiliency comforting. And I don't see any reason to wait for civilization to collapse before we can bring nature into our cities. Really, nature can be quite a polite houseguest. It requires so little of us. Just a crack in the wall.


Photo by Tim Parkinson, shared via Flickr

After following green roof and living wall designs for years, I got a kick out of a recent article in the Seattle Times. Perhaps this is the next frontier:


Photo by Chris Butler, Idaho Statesman

ZRecs.com cover photo by Geishaboy500, shared via Flickr.