My spider plants and some bamboo palms. (The figures on the wall are folk art from Cuba depicting the Santeria goddesses Yemeya and Oshun.)

I was having brunch last weekend with some friends, and we started talking about indoor plants. C. had recently moved into an apartment on the Upper West Side that has very little natural light. While not in the basement, the only windows open onto the brick walls of neighboring buildings. She was hoping a plant might cheer things up. I suggested a philodendron because of the low light and they are known to clean the air, but she pointed out that she has a cat, and philodendrons are toxic to cats.

"What about a spider plant?" she suggested. "I hear they also clean the indoor air."

"I have generations of spider plants growing--grandparents, offspring of offspring, cousins," I said. "I'll put some offshoots to root for you."

Another friend, H. chimed in that I in fact had a veritable trailer park of spider plants. She's from the south and has a fondness for trailer parks, so I took it as an endearing comment about my spider plants.

She added, "The one you gave me died in the move, could you start me a new one?"

I have so many little offshoots, that I give these plants away as housewarming gifts and even as party favors. But as I eyed a bunch of little shoots soaking in a bowl of water, I realized that I really wanted a terrarium. During the cold weather, the idea of a tiny, tropical eco-system cheering up the darker corners of my apartment became more and more appealing.


The spider plant nursery.