“Let’s jump over this huge river,” I said to Ming. It was a tiny creek at this property we’re staying at, in Arizona. “Needs some mint, planted on the bank. That’s what I would do–plant mint, here. That’s the kind of prank I like.”
I decided–I’m not a prankster. But if I was going to do pranks, they would be plant pranks. Yep–mischievous mint planted somewhere wet, to go feral and become a delicious fragrant nuisance. Yum. I’d return years later to gather copious sprigs and make mint lemonade.
I’ve fantasized about grafting branches from other trees onto a fruit tree. So then a whole other type of pear grows on there, and the gardener is super confused, scratching her head but enjoying the fruits of my labor. Victim of a plant prank!
And just planting stuff in people’s gardens to surprise them. Some sacred beautiful flower that makes them ask, “What the fuck?” The amazing lotus in the koi pond. They would guess a bird pooped the seed.
Corpse flower is not the kind of thing you grow on accident. They usually get special conditions, tended carefully. But if the climate was right…wouldn’t that be the best prank ever?
“Something smells weird. What’s going on?” Gardener investigates. “Whoa nelly! That huge mysterious phallus bloomed into a flower, and it’s dark red and smells of rotting flesh!”
Then the botanists and press show up to commandeer the garden, for science. Hahahaha. They rope it off, and the gardener can’t enter. Plant paparazzi wearing suits, snapping plant pics with old fashioned flash cameras, scrambling for an interview with the top botanist at the nearby university
All because of a seed planted by plant prank maker Laura-Marie. Hmm, sounds unlikely. But when I’m not thinking about language, relationships, intimacy, zines, food, or resisting capitalism for fun, I’m thinking about plants.
Tulsi is looking good, we grew from seed.
Buncha chilis, surprised us.
Bolted chard I cut down to almost nothing is leafing out deliciously.
Honeysuckle is sacred. We saw it bloom here around May. I had no idea it would bloom in October, too. Thank you, Mother God, for all the flowers.