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CARNIVOROUS PLANTS

THERE IS A fairly broad chasm between me and anything having to do with greasy grimy gopher guts. I never embraced sci-fi, horror movies, or anything remotely leaning in the gory direction. Indeed, I’m a lifelong vegetarian, and that should tell you a lot. However, some of my best friends are meat-eaters. Take the pitcher plant, for example.

I like to think I’m attracted to sarracenias because they are gorgeous. Solely on the basis of their physical appearance, I made a beeline in the pitcher plant’s general direction. And why keep an oddball of this caliber at arm’s length outdoors? Fortunately, sarracenias turned out to be possible and pleasurable houseplants. We’re talking funnel-shaped, tube-like leaves that poke up from the ground (or lay back, in the case of Sarracenia purpurea). They’re leathery, their veins are accented, and they have a little bonnet at their tip, sometimes shaped like a lid that is ajar. In other words, pitcher plants look vaguely supernatural. Add their eating habits to this outlandish garb and you’ve got the makings of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. The foliage has nectaries that attract insects. While the insects are in exploratory mode, they crawl around the tube, which gets waxier further from the opening. It’s so slippery that hapless bugs (and the misadventures of bugs seemingly make the world go round) tumble into the depths of the leaf. In this case, a second chance isn’t in the poor little pollinator’s cards as it drowns in the accumulated water. The pitcher plant ingests the lip-smacking goodness of its yummy prey, leaving the outer body parts to form a slurry in its depths. Look within a tube on a pitcher plant, and there’s going to be considerable grossness going on. It’s the smoothie from hell. Be prepared for yuck even indoors—sarracenias manage to wine and dine on any stray fruit flies that happen to be carousing. If that image bothers you, feel free to empty out the pitcher periodically. Or you can turn the other cheek and let nature take its course.

When one of my nursery friends divulged the knowledge that sarracenias need a sub-freezing sequence, it was news to me. I’d always grown them successfully indoors throughout the winter. Granted, they’re not in their finest form at that juncture (although they never went completely dormant), but they survived to rally and blossom in spring. The blossoms are deep burgundy and shiny, and look like a combination spaceship-parachute-umbrella. They shoot up twice as tall as the leaves and are definitely an event in spring.

The sarracenias aren’t the only carnivorous plants in my inventory. I also do a few sundews (Drosera species). They aren’t equally thrilling from a distance, but I love the sparkling, jewel-like quality of the tentacles that enwrap and strangle their prey. Mine don’t seem to have an appetite equal to the pitcher plants, but they are easy to grow, mildly entertaining, and definitely different, so I invite them to the party.

Occasionally, I try (and fail with) a Venus flytrap (Dionaea muscipula). It lives for a month or two under my stewardship, and then goes dormant (also known as dead). I’ve tried them in the open and in terrariums. Nothing seems to work. Dormancy is the kiss of death in my house. Although they are undeniably thrilling for a while, it isn’t a lasting relationship.

Just for the record, I have never grown a nepenthes in my home. Their preference for warm temperatures, high humidity, and warm water is just too daunting. It’s fine to host a modest carnivorous plant that demands high humidity in a terrarium, but nepenthes are huge plants with dangling lidded pitchers that catch bugs. In other words, they are not easily clapped into a humid chamber. They are undeniably fascinating, but I leave them to reside in toasty greenhouses and visit them there.

All carnivorous plants enjoy similar growing conditions. They love bright light and soggy roots. My entire collection sits in a watertight metal tray with sides that can be filled and refilled with water as the level dwindles. The even moisture factor is key, and I find that it’s more important than light. Because I don’t really have any super bright venues in my home, most of the carnivorous crowd is relegated to part shade. The whole menagerie takes lower sunbeams in their stride (except the Venus flytrap).

The potting medium can be dicey. I’ve seen a combination of peat moss and sand used (50-50 is usually recommended). Sphagnum moss has been associated with carnivorous plants as a potting medium, but it has also been linked with a very serious skin condition, so I avoid it entirely and urge you to do likewise. I have never needed to repot my collection—they seem to grow fine in their original pots indefinitely. Keep in mind that carnivorous plants are custom-made to survive in protein- and nutrient-poor ecosystems. They are indigenous to bogs and supplement their diet with their kinky meals. They detest fertilizer. Carnivorous plants don’t actually need to eat insects to survive; the bugs are supplemental. Of course, there’s no way to dissuade kids from trying to cram flies into their carnivorous pets. But an arm of a Venus flytrap with prey inside will remain shut, and then turn black and rot. Pitcher plants, on the other hand, can gorge on thousands of insects and still be their handsome, smiling selves.

Sarracenia species, Drosera species, Dionaea muscipula

• PITCHER PLANTS, SUNDEWS, AND VENUS FLYTRAP