The Grow Light Did It (Allegedly)
- Lynn Adkison
- Mar 19
- 4 min read
Updated: May 7
The other night my SO noticed the grow lights were still on in the spare room after he went to bed. This is something I'd never noticed, being a Benjamin Franklin-style early-to-bed human — I'm down by 9:30pm sharp, like every night is a school night. He, on the other hand, stays up and does whatever it is people do who stay up late in the living rooms of suburban houses. Watch things, presumably. Exist in the dark. Anywho, the grow lights on one side of the spare room are plugged in behind one or two things. Not a lot of things. Just one or two large, plant-like things. The light itself is a Sansi 4-headed adjustable setup on a notoriously unstable tripod — can't pull it back because the cord is only so long, can't push it closer because it'll burn something. (The corner in question is, at present, hosting a mature bird of paradise, a large Monstera Deliciosa, a goodly-sized Philodendron Florida Bronze, another fair-sized Deliciosa, and a palm tree of some sort or other. It is a tight situation. Geopolitically speaking.)
He offered to fix the timer. I accepted. I went to bed feeling good about it.
Now. Maybe you can already see where this is going. If so, this post isn't for you. The rest of you — lean closer.
Yesterday was a full-house day. Carpet guy, fence guy, laundry, vacuuming, garbage day. I decide — brilliantly, as usual — that this is the perfect moment to bottom-water the big plants, which have been neglected in favor of their needier, smaller roommates.
I laboriously lug each one into the hall bath, where my signature blue mix is looking mighty fine, and begin giving them turns in the tub. On the fourth round, I notice something. The large Monstera Deliciosa has black spots on its leaves. The Florida Bronze looks like it lost a fistfight. The palm has white spots, much like the top of my head.
What in the absolute—
Investigation time. The Florida Bronze and the Deliciosa had been sitting side by side in that corner like buddies — complementing each other with color and fenestrations. Turns out, they were having a sibling rivalry, and the Deliciosa was winning by a significant margin. The Bronze had nicks, bruises, and the sad disposition of the losing team in an old western. This town isn't big enough for the both of us — and the Bronze was not going to end up with the town...er, corner.
The Deliciosa's black spots, upon closer inspection, settled my nerves somewhat. Not mushy. No smell. The Not Dirt is dry. This isn't rot.
I take this information, add the palm damage, and arrive at the only logical conclusion: at some point, the grow light touched these plants while it was still hot.
I'm not pointing fingers. I'm not saying the light couldn't have toppled on its own — it's on a notoriously unstable tripod, in a notoriously crowded corner, plugged into an outlet that requires a certain amount of wedging to access. Accidents happen. I have knocked things over in here myself.
What I'm saying is: nobody mentioned it. We're just going to move forward, apparently, as though the plants aren't scorched and the light isn't crooked and nothing happened at all.
Noted.
Moving on — because we apparently are — I'm still eyeballing this Deliciosa. White spots on the trunk now. Quite a few of them. Nothing uniform, nothing patterned. Just... lumps.
Scale. The word arrives in my brain like a fire alarm.
It would be a first for me — but all good things come to those who wait, or so I've heard. One q-tip dipped in isopropyl, scrubbed over the suspicious lumps more times than is strictly necessary: not scale. Definitely not scale.
So what IS this?
Aerial root growth points. Not the tidy green ones that emerge from a node. These are full-on, pimple-style, whole-stem-of-acne future aerial roots — with additional inches of existing root extension already showing.
My first thought: this bitch is about to EXPLODE.
A plant this large pushing out aerial roots like this is either looking for something to climb, or looking for something to support the weight of what it's about to become. I'm going with yes on both counts, because it's better to be safe when you're dealing with what is, honestly, the kudzu of the tropics. One of those plants that will just keep growing in the right conditions. It doesn't usually hit its ceiling indoors in Northeast Georgia — but that doesn't mean it won't try. Indoors, Monstera Deliciosa typically top out around 7 feet — conveniently the height of the average ceiling — though in ideal conditions, they'll make a run at it faster than you'd expect.
The corner is not big enough for the Florida Bronze and the Deliciosa.
The corner may not be big enough for the Deliciosa alone.
We're going to need a bigger boat. And also a trellis.
First things first: how big is she NOW? As a practical being with a streak of sloth, my method of measuring included a selfie, the height on my official Georgia ID, and an AI...all of which prompted a search for answers on support options. Turns out...there aren't a lot readily available, meaning now I've gotta build something.
I enlist the help of the man person in the house, as Home Depot (outside of the Garden Center) is his second home. I provide a list of supplies and a mission. I do not mention that I noticed this growth spurt because SOMEONE knocked the grow light onto the plant and now it has black leaf spots. I will never mention it. He hasn't confessed - or confessed on behalf of the dog. We're just going to keep going, in this never-ending give-and-take, I-lose-some-leaves-you-buy-plant-trellis-materials roller coaster of life.
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