So. Update. While I was otherwise occupied — dealing with a friend situation that turned out poorly, a property management company that was trying to make me pull each hair out individually, and the general weight of a week that had decided to be A LOT — the SO had the carpet replaced. Practical man. Good instincts. He looked at the Spiteapple, which is large and unwieldy and takes up more real estate than it probably should, and decided it would enjoy some time outside while

Mother's Day is my least favorite holiday in the world. I want to be clear. I am not dissing mothers or motherhood or whatever other hoods. My particular circumstances in life, both now and in the preceding years, have made this NOT the best holiday ever, and I am not a fan of holidays in general. Long story. Much trauma. Nobody actually died, so that's a plus.

I decided to walk down to the beach and enjoy a little lake therapy. I got my little cart and cooler and chair and trundled myself down there. It was tranquil, almost languid. The perfect day in a nutshell and no pop-up thunderstorms in sight. At one point I noticed there was a crew cab, older white truck making the rounds around the campground. A lap or two is normal. Three or four is... less normal.

‘Guttation’ is literally just the process by which those water droplets—you know, the ones that stain your wood surfaces if you have a tropical plant sitting on them—come OUT of the leaves of your plants. It comes from a Latin word, but since that’s a dead language and there probably aren’t a lot of Latin scholars left out there, we’ll just skip over the root word part and go straight into the cool sciency bits.

You know how you bought those jeans and they were your absolute favorite jeans and you wore them to everything 10 years ago so you saved them because one day you just KNOW you’ll be able to get back into them. But now, when you put them on, you have to lie down on the bed and use a coat hanger to zip them up, then you stand up looking like an overstuffed sausage? That’s root bound.

I have never fully understood what "bright indirect light" means. I'm not sure I understand it now, if we're being completely honest. It's the least well-defined term in the entire plant world — a phrase that appears in approximately 100% of tropical plant care guides and explains precisely nothing about what you're actually supposed to do in your house in Northeast Georgia. So I guessed.

Yesterday, while I was out and about picking up materials to build a trellis for a giant Monstera Deliciosa, I found an Alocasia Odora 'Batik.' So, in typical plant hoarding fashion, I brought it home. Obviously. I then compared it to the Alocasia macrorrhizos 'Dawn' - here's what I found.

Why is it my brain automagically pops to "let's plant something" every time the temp drops? I spent the January ice storm and subsequent snow storm re-potting every plant in the house, much to my SO's chagrin. I set up tables in the other half of the living room, flung Not Dirt everywhere, and had an absolute blast while he watched TV and the dogs looked on boredly.

I have a water prop thingy. It's an AHopeGarden — twelve holes, tray, lives on the buffet in the living room that holds office supplies and dongles and apparently also lives rent-free in the back of my mind as "I should really clean that."

What nobody tells you about launching a small business in 2026. I knew it was going to be hard. I accepted that. I still do. What I didn't know was how incredibly frustrating it was going to be — fighting the tech stack, fighting the people closest to me, watching my best efforts get relegated to "oh, that's cute" or lost in the void of the internet while Google pondered whether or not it had time for me.

Conversationally with a plant person, I would absolutely NEVER tell you what's in that tub. The water looks like someone pulled a blue baby out of it, and we are not going to discuss why. I dropped a felt-tip pen in there. It looks blue now. Moving on.

I left for cigarettes. That was it. It's a bad habit, I know, but that's not the point here. Focus people. LOOK at this?!?

Let me be upfront about something: there is no such thing as a bug-free greenhouse. Anyone telling you otherwise is either lying or has one plant on a windowsill and is calling it a collection.

My SO got me this water prop thingy for Christmas, as he knows I like plants. I think he intended me to use it as a seed started for my yard garden - which is probably a really good use for it - but that's absolutely not what I did. Not (only) because I'm contrary, but because I kept seeing all these people multiplying their plants and it looked cool! Plus I'd get to say "chop & prop" naturally in conversation, which is about as good a reason to do something as anything else

Everyone wants an Albo, but I’m currently "babysitting" ours. It’s the question I get most often, and the answer is usually: "Not yet." It's why she's listed on the site but with some heavy disclaimers.

If you've scrolled my socials, you've likely seen pics of this pineapple that's actually pineapple'ing (inside no less), as I'm particularly pleased with it and like to show ERRbody. What you haven't seen is why in the heck we have a pineapple. Inside. In Georgia.

Working out of 1,000 square feet for a nursery is a constant challenge. I’ve reworked this room no less than three times so far, trying to balance space for repotting and maintenance with the massive light and airflow needs of the plants. It is generally anything but "Insta-worthy," but it’s where the magic happens.

Stop using "Leaf Shine" sprays. They’re the "fast food" of plant care—looks good for a second, but it’s toxic long-term. Think of like that shiny film the drive-thru car wash sprays on your tires. Sure, they glisten, but they also attract every piece of dirt and road debris anywhere near your tire.

As a self-proclaimed crazy plant lady, I spend a lot of time browsing. I’m dreaming about my next "wishlist" addition, comparing prices, and marveling at the sheer variety out there. But every time I log on, I’m startled by the sheer number of "perfect" plants I see. It’s almost clinical.

Harry was a Ficus who had been with his family for three decades. Unfortunately, a 40° Georgia night was too much for him, even under a cover. When the leaves stay brown and crispy after a few weeks, it’s usually a sign the internal plumbing has failed. We performed a "Scratch Test," but the stems were dry. Harry’s journey had come to an end.