A tip for the frugal plant parent

...Is to take a jaunt around the village. You might just be surprised by the neighborhood's plethora of plants on display, most of which you can easily pluck and prune. Erratum: surreptitiously pluck.

It is a Saturday afternoon, my sister and I come home from a family lunch, and I tell her this is a perfect time for a bike around the village. She agrees. As the sun prepares itself to set, we dress in our casual pambahay clothes. The leash tied to the dog's collar on one end, the other to the bike, and off we go on our sidecar, the image of a handful of plants in my mind excites me.

We begin our wander—or, more aptly, search—at the fourth street, where our house is situated along. Passing through streets and avenues, the comely lawns and gardens greet us whilst my sister and I eye for the perfect plant and node. Every time I see an exciting prospect, my sister, the commissioned plant-picker, comes to a jolt, sixth sense fully activated (if you think only Peter Parker has it, you're wrong) in case the house owner sees us. So, picture this: we bike and bike, and, ostensibly, collect and collect. I take on the wheels and my eyes search for the pretty greens, my sister takes the plant and the blame if we ever get caught. Teamwork.

A backstory: I have twelve indoor plants, and eleven of them were given as a present by Joe. For the past year, every occasion, monthsary, up until our third anniversary this year, a plant would always show itself up, Joe would hand it to me, a greeting card to follow. Joe, the ever so romantic, thoughtful, affectionate, and amazing Joe. Sometimes, even the not-so-celebratory days, I would unexpectedly receive one. There have been a lot of occasions and random days when a plant gets handed over to me that eleven would seem like a small number. The fact is, I had received more plants than that but only eleven remains lush and bushy and blooming today. If not for the extreme heat in the summer, the others would have stayed and been on display in my room, replenished every morning as part of my routine. But life is temporary, as is with everyone else's, and their death knocked on the door a little too early. And every knock on the door is Joe's money down the drain.

Now for the spoiled fruit in a plateful of desserts; the plot twist to a decent, happy ending; the irrelevant celebrity who might as well disappear because the show business could go on without her. We are now on our way home, content with what we have collected, when Pinky, the dog's name despite being a male and having zero hint of pink on its fur, sees a dog of his same size, unleashed. All hell breaks loose as he runs after it and we get dragged 100 meters from our house (it is long, I'm no good at estimating, and I might have exaggerated—but it is long). My sister tries hard, albeit failing, to stop the bike with her foot, I attempt to slow down the bike as we approach a sharp curve going to the front gate. We are not stopping. The inertia still has our bike in motion, when Pinky sees a cat this time and, again, runs for the hills and continues to drag us along with him. It was when he finally realizes the dog does not give a damn, the cat is a familiar face (it was Werpa), that he settles down, chest panting from all the running and chasing. We unstrap him from the bike to prevent another life threatening event from happening and think of how we could have collided with a vehicle had there been one on the curve during the chase—the inevitable, especially when your bike has malfunctioning brakes.

Somehow, after combing through half the streets of the village and surviving the train wreck of a situation, we come home with a Sansevieria, Syngonium, and ZZ plants, with zero cash-out at that; our bodies tired, but still intact and in one piece. Now, you might think we're a natural at, dare I say it, stealing. We are not stealing, in fact, I like to think of it as us helping propagate greens. In our own backyard, that is, and without the owner's knowing, but does mother Earth even care? No, and for all we know, she is happy with how passionate I am about growing my own plants. Passionate even at the risk of putting our lives on the line.

So, if I may suggest again, go take a walk around the village. And, if you have, bring your sister, too. And the dog, don't forget the dog.