By Elizabeth Chapin-Pinotti
Peanut jumped the knee-high brick planter between her landing and mine as she called up to my window. Peanut is my best friend and we live in the same house only in different homes. We live in the Mission District of San Francisco. Our house is like a lot of the other houses on our street, tall and skinny and divided in half so two families can live in the same house only with no doors to the other side.
I opened the door when I heard her voice. I was already ready. We share a wall. My canary yellow bedroom slapped right up to her girlie pink one. She knocked three times before she left. This is my cue to meet her outside. Three to meet outside, two to call and one to say good night at 8:30 sharp.
Today, we are going hunting, nature hunting. Nature hunting in our neighborhood is tough. Some of San Francisco has lots of wildlife. Flowers and trees and birds and bushes make some places not even seem like a city. On our street it’s mostly, house after house, after house, after house, after apartment building, after house…and so on until you hit Mission Street.
On our side of Mission is Murikami’s Market. Across the street is a Starbuck’s knockoff. Cement and asphalt line the streets with only an occasional tree. We are going to change that. We are going to plant jungly vines in the planter between our front doors. They will grow and grow and grow until they overtake the walls and ceilings and hang over the front of the porch and people have to hack their way inside our houses.
“One, two…” I count the lines in the cement.
“Three, four, first tree…” Peanut says her part of the counting game we play. “Hey Mickey?” She asks me.
“Yea?” I continue skipping along the sidewalk.
“Where are we going to get these vines?”
I shrug my shoulders as I wave to old Mrs. Velter.
“Hi, Mrs. Velter!” Peanut and I call together.
“Hello, girls.” She smiles and waves from her porch landing. She is sitting behind an easel.
Peanut turns and skips up her walk. I follow.
“What’re
you painting today Mrs. Velter.” Peanut
asks as she hops the last step and looks at the easel.
“Pretty.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Velter smiles and she face scrunches up like one of
the fans on Mr. Murikami’s store walls. Her
face scrunches but her blue eyes twinkle. “These
are the roses I had in my garden when I was a little girl.
I’m sure they are much bigger now.”
I take my own look. “Pretty, pretty.” I say. Mrs. Velter has lived in San Francisco all of her life. She tells us stories about when there were more parks and when wild animals like raccoons and skunks and rabbits would rummage through her garbage. She even said that, a real long time ago, there was enough land for cows to live here. Can you imagine cows wandering the streets of San Francisco and laying on the cable car lines? That would be a sight.
“What are you girls up to today?”
“We are going hunting.” Peanut states proudly.
Mrs. Velter unscrunches her cheeks and puts the scrunch between her eyes. “My, my…and what are you hunting for?”
“Wild jungly plants.” I state and take deep breath. “We are going to plant jungly vines in the planter between our front doors. They will grow and grow and grow until they overtake the walls and ceilings and hang over the front of the porch and people have to hack their way inside our houses.”
“I see,” she smiles. “Where are you going to get these vines?” Mrs. Velter asks.
“If we knew that we would not have to hunt for them.” Peanut says politely. When Peanut says something like that it comes out politely. Now, if I said it, for some reason, it would not sound so very polite.
“There’s just not enough nature in our environment.” I state. Environment was one of our spelling words. I like to use our spelling words when I talk. It makes me sound smart.
“You girls are right there. That’s why I like my paintings. I put them on the wall and nature comes inside my house.” Mrs. Velter smiles. “Good luck on your hunt.”
Our first stop is the seed section of Murikami’s Market. We spin the seed holder rack.
“Peas, carrots, squash, beans…” Peanut reads the packages.
Mrs. Murikami calls from behind the counter. “Can I help you girls find something?”
I walk over and lean on the counter. I wave to Mr. Murikami who is kneeling under the counter untangling cords. “We’re looking for tangly, jungly vines to plant on our front porch.”
“Will these work, Mickey?” Mr. Murikami holds up the black and gray cords. “They are about as tangled as it gets.”
“We want the real kinds.” Peanut has looked at all of the seed packages and joins me at the counter.
I take a deep breath. “We are going to plant jungly vines in the planter between our front doors. They will grow and grow and grow until they overtake the walls and ceilings and hang over the front of the porch and people have to hack their way inside our houses.”
“I see,” Mrs. Murikami says thoughtfully. “I’m sorry girls, we only carry vegetable seeds.”
“Thanks anyway.” I say as the door jingler jingles as we leave the store.
“Good luck!” Calls Mr. Murikami.
We wave and head towards Ace Hardware. Inside we search the seed rack with the same results…vegetables. Doesn’t anyone plant anything but vegetables? What about plants and flowers? Someone must sell seeds for them or else how would they get them to grow in the park or in the country?
As we are leaving the store I spot it…the most beautiful yellow and green viney plant I have ever seen. It is hanging in a section with other plants.
“Eureka!” I say and head straight to it. Eureka is a word from our gold rush lesson in Social Studies. It means ‘I found it’. Miners used to say it when they found gold. Well, this jungly vine is my gold so I figure it is a good place to use the word.
“Oh, Mickey, it’s perfect. Only it’s growing down not up.” Peanut says.
We are
now standing under the plant. It is
perfect. “Alls we have to do is
train it to go up. Maybe we could
staple the branches to the wall or something.”
“Good idea,” Peanut says as a man in a red vest approaches.
“Can I help you ladies?” He asks.
“How much is this plant?” I ask and then I hold my breath. Please be less then $18.24…please be less than $18.24…please be less then $18.24. I say this over and over in my head.
He looks at the tag…and… ”Twelve ninety-nine.”
“We’ll take it.” Peanut and I say together.
We follow the man to the counter and dump out our allowances. We have been saving for weeks. I’ve given up a lot of Icees for this plant but it will be worth it.
The guy in the red vest rings us up and we head for home.
We dig up the deep brown dirt in the planter and plop in our beautiful jungly vine. I pat the dirt back around the roots, like my mom does when she replants her houseplants. We give our jungly plant plenty of water. The plant looks good there between our front doors.
“When it gets junglier we’ll staple the vines to the side of the house so it grows up.” I say to Peanut.
“How long to you think it will take to grow?” Peanut asks.
“A few days probably.” I say but I’m really not sure. “All this planting has made me hungry. Let’s go get something to eat.”
“Right behind you Mickey.” We bounce into my house and head for the kitchen.
Every day we water the jungly vine. Every day we talk to the jungly vine. Every day we measure the jungly vine’s long shoots. Every day our jungly vine looks sicker and sicker.
Standing on our porch Wednesday after school, Peanut says what we have both been thinking. “Mickey, I think our jungly vine is dying.”
We hear the wheels of Mrs. Velter’s walker before we see her coming up the walk. “It’s dying because it is a houseplant.”
I survey my surroundings. Is she crazy? This is a house. “Ah, Mrs. Velter, this is a house.”
She smiles that crinkle face smile that lights up her eyes. “No, no Mickey, houseplant means that it is an inside plant.”
“What difference does it make?” Peanut asks.
Mrs. Velter explains. “It is warmer inside and not as damp. This is a tropical plant. It needs lots of warm air.”
“We could cover it at night.” I suggest.
“It can’t die, we spent almost all of our allowance on it.” Peanut sighs.
“Try covering it girls but I don’t know how much good it will do.” Mrs. Velter begins back down the walk. “Most of the jungly plants you’d be interested in are for tropical climates, meaning that they will not grow in San Francisco.”
I am so heartbroken that I can only nod. I am heartbroken but I will not give up hope. Our jungly vine will live. I just know it...
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