Remember the little rose plant I got a few months ago? Well, let me tell you a story about it.
One day back in, oh, maybe mid-August, I noticed that my little plant needed some water. Being the good plant owner that I am (well, halfway-decent plant owner; I’m not sure I quite know enough about plants to qualify as “good”), I took it to my kitchen sink to give it a drink. As I was waiting for the water to change from cold to something closer to room temperature, I spotted some tiny bits of white on my plant.
I wasn’t sure what they were at first. Fuzz? Mold? Tiny little bits of fur that Cookie had somehow managed to kick up onto the window ledge?
A better look was in order. I brought the plant up closer to my eyes… and immediately brought it back down again.
My beautiful little rose plant was covered in tiny white insects–and, it turns out, some little green ones that I hadn’t seen from farther away.
I had no idea where they’d come from or how long they’d been there. I didn’t even know what kind of insects they were, exactly. All I knew is that I didn’t want them to move over to my orchid or, cringe at the thought, onto Cookie.
As much as I didn’t want to do it, my plant had to go outside. I wasn’t sure if the plant would survive, but I hoped the bugs wouldn’t. I hoped the birds would get them, or maybe some bigger bugs.
I was partly successful. It’s mid-October now, and my plant is only starting to die. Unfortunately, the bugs are still there. There aren’t nearly as many of them, but they’re there.
Yes, I realize I probably should have sprayed the plant with something. I should have taken a stronger stand against those bugs. But I really did think, at the time, that putting the plant outside would be enough.
At least they’re not inside. I haven’t seen them anywhere else, thankfully. Just on that little rose plant.
Do you see now why I maybe don’t qualify as a “good” plant owner? Only halfway-decent?