At my last trip to Ikea, I was super excited to discover they now sell small pineapple trees for the totally reasonable price of $14.99. I'm slightly obsessed (or at least preoccupied) with the idea of growing my own fruit. I already grow my own herbs and vegetables. And let's not forget the avocado tree (if you can call it that) that we started two years ago in a little cup.
The problem? We live in Minnesota (also known as Minnesnowta), the land of snow and purple rain (that's an Atmosphere reference that references Prince, shameless local music plug No. 1 and 2). Drifts bigger than buildings and running on treadmills (that's a Kid Dakota reference, shameless local plug No. 3). Like much of the Midwest region, our winters are long and hard... even brutal. Twenty below temps, wind... Not a whole lot of the high temps and intense sun that fruit trees rely on.
So everyone seemed skeptical when I brought home my little pineapple tree last month. "It's not going to survive,"my husband said. Isn't he optimistic? I planted it anyway, with care.
I was feeling confident. I've kept the avocado tree alive for two years, and I also managed to grow some plants in my completely window-less basement office (they're actually thriving!). Sometimes it just takes a little love,
steroids fertilizer, and plant lights.
Then yesterday morning I walked outside to this distressing site:
The guilty party:
More doggy damage:
I should have known. I've been documenting Murphy's path of destruction from the beginning:
R.I.P. little pineapple tree.