the virus has struck

That is not just click-bait.

The virus has hit the house with no name. But I am not the target -- and it is not the coronavirus.

Earlier this month, we discussed the colonies of mealybugs that had attacked the vine in front of Darrel and Christy's bedroom (something is bugging me). I duly followed several of your mutual suggestions. Alcohol did not work. Soapy water has, and it has had the added benefit of killing a new aphid invasion, as well.

But that planter, with its attraction of Exodus-sized plagues, seems to have turned into pharaoh's palace. First the mealybugs. Then the aphids. And now a virus. Can locusts be far behind?

Or, at least, I think it is a virus. The heliconia in that planter have struggled since I moved in six years ago. They will thrive and flower for a month or two. Then they start dying off.

This year, one stalk after another has just given up. Then, a new problem started this week. The leaves are browning. You can see the pattern in the photograph.

Aesthetically, whatever it is, it is creating very interesting patterns in the leaves. But, for all of its artistic appeal, it has the certain scent of death about it.

Certainly, everything dies. Eventually. That is the philosophical conundrum of death-before-its-time that has such a strong hold on our amygdalas.

The immediate impulse is to try to stop the process. There must be something that will keep the plants from dying.

But why? Any "solution" would be temporary. Like all living things, the heliconia have a limited life cycle. The fading of new growth and flowers has been a sign that the plant does not have much life left in it. The rhizomes are slowly giving up the ghost.

There is an odd equilibrium in nature. Almost any plant will grow here in tropical Mexico -- often at alarming speeds in the rainy season. And because there are a lot of tender stalks agrowing, there are plenty of enemies afoot.

Putting aside our nutrient-poor sandy soil and the brine that settles on the soil each day, there are plenty of insects, reptiles, and viruses that are more than happy to bring a swift end to every plant. Woody Allen had it right: "Nature's like an enormous restaurant."

I was going to ask you for your assistance in a cure for the heliconia, but I have come to the conclusion that the only solution is a shovel. The heliconia must go, and, because it would be best to remove all the dirt from the planter, the insect-prone vine will join the heleconia on the ash heap of history.*

The next step will be the replacement plants. (Yes, Felipe, I know your vote is simply to slam up a wall. But I need to hear what Darrel and Christy have to say. It is their screen.)

The plant possibilities are legion. I just need to remember that if it grows, it also dies, and will suffer the vagaries of life in between the bookends of its birth and death.

Come to think of it, there may be a lesson there when we think about other viruses, as well.


* -- I always have the feeling when I write sentiments like that, when the planet is invaded by superior beings with a plant-based nature that I will be tried as war criminal against plantdom -- along with all the vegans.