learns well with others

I didn’t kill him.

Alfred, the snake plant, that is.

At least not yet.

I’m not sure if I deserve credit for that.

I picked up Alfred at the Withrow Park Farmers’ Market four Saturdays ago. The vendor had on offer an unexpected mix of baked goods and plants. The snaking line was apparently for the pastries.

The three-foot plant with the shock of dark green, stripy spikes was calling out to me. I asked the vendor if he was pet safe. No, she said, but my pets would have to eat a lot of him to get sick. I briefly consider choosing a different plant. Never mind, my heart is set on Alfred.

It’s about $60 for the plant and about $40 for the terracotta-coloured planter he comes in.

I ask the vendor for a quick rundown of care instructions. (Emphasis on quick — I am standing between the masses and their pastries.)

She tells me he’s a desert plant and practically indestructible. (We’ll see.) Don’t leave him in direct sunlight and water him once every three weeks.

And with that, I crouch down to scoop up Alfred. Fortunately, it doesn’t take too long to lug him home. He’s a bit awkward and heavy. The lifting strength helps. See “2. New PR.”

I plunk Alfred down in the living room, where he makes for a nice addition to the space. Almost immediately, Jasper, our silky black cat, takes an interest in him. Dozer, our tri-lilac old English bulldogge, isn’t too far behind.

Just as immediately, I compulsively check ChatGPT to see just how toxic Alfred is for the pets. This was not part of the IRL lesson plan. AI essentially corroborates what the vendor told me.

(Okay, but did vendor’s knowledge come from ChatGPT? Is this information accurate or is the chatbot hallucinating? Now, I’m spiralling.)

I decide that Alfred will be an outdoor plant. Can snake plants live outside, I wonder. It’s not something I discussed with the vendor.

Alfred finds his new home in my husband’s “outdoor oasis.” In Toronto real estate, that means a sliver of fenced-in space — about five feet by 16.5 feet. It’s just enough space for a barbecue, a Muskoka chair and to let the dog out. The tall fence, adorned as it is with string lights and Virginia creeper vines, almost helps you forget that our condo building backs onto a parking lot.

Alfred has company in my husband’s Bird of Paradise plant, which is surviving in spite of its sun-scorched leaves.

He wasn’t always called Alfred. Naming him would help me stay focused on tending to his care and well-being, right?

My husband is happy to meet Alfred.

I later scold my husband when I see he’s moved Alfred and learn he’s watered him. (Does it count if my husband keeps him alive? He’s a first responder. He can’t help it. It’s his job to save lives. He doesn’t discriminate, I guess, person or plant.)

In the weeks that follow, I do literally nothing to keep Alfred alive. The location my husband picked for him doesn’t get direct sunlight. It rains at least once every three weeks, so I let nature take care of the watering.

I’d had such grand plans for living up to the spirit of the blog for this act of learning. Maybe I’d check out a book about plants from the library, old school, or interview an expert. But life got busy, and the AI chatbot was there.

I have already cheated once by checking ChatGPT when I brought Alfred home. Now, the homework assignment that launched this blog gives me another excuse to reach for online resources.

I need to analyze someone else’s blog for EEAT — expertise, experience, authoritativeness and trustworthiness — factors that influence the visibility of content. Why not the Toronto Botanical Garden’s blog, “How to care for a snake plant,” by Georgie Kennedy?

I immediately rate the blog high for authoritativeness and trustworthiness because it’s hosted by the Toronto Botanical Garden. Bonus points for the details attributed to NASA. I look up Kennedy’s bio and learn she’s a gardener, which covers off experience and expertise. (The experience is implied, as she doesn’t share any personal stories about caring for snake plants.)

Kennedy shares my inclination to personify the snake plant in a romantic way. She likens the selection process to matchmaking. Her blog confirms it: Low-maintenance Alfred and I are perfect for each other.

Kennedy echoes much the information that came from the vendor who sold me Alfred but offers differing advice on the frequency of watering. She suggests once a week. I also learn that he can live outside in the summer.

I’m already thinking about the fall. What happens when the temperature drops? Alfred will need to come inside.

I may have recruited ChatGPT for some assists with this one, but I’m looking to you, dear readers, to keep me honest: Don’t let me come back here to write an obituary for Alfred’s untimely death in three months.