One day I was looking for a different flavor of tea to make, and found a pretty pink box of peach tea. I opened it and "woops, not for the tea cup," it was full of iris pods. Not labeled either, but I think they're from a place on the mountain where the big pines open out into a little meadow and there is a big patch of Iris missouriensis. Note to self: find out if the seeds need stratification, if so, transfer to some dirt in the fridge.

Yes indeedy, I'm a bona fide plant geek. If you are wondering if you suffer from this wonderful ailment, here are some tips. No, this is not, "Are your jobs and relationships suffering because of your plant obsession?" I KNOW you have healthy relationships with other like-minded people who don't mind opening the fridge and thinking “Oh, chocolate cookies,” and discovering it's a plastic bag of dirt and spruce seeds, or “Oh, let's get rid of that dried up celery,” and realizing it's that apple scionwood from the tree the porcupines love on Paradise Ridge, that you bud-grafted from last year.

You know you are a plant geek when you clean off your kitchen shelf to make room for a mixing bowl and find an entire grocery bag's worth of saved collections of squash seeds.

Here my friend came in and said, “You have to tell them about how when one is driving one always has to be prepared to stop suddenly to get a cutting, like of that really floriferous deep pink wild rose north of here, or to find a safe place to park so you can climb two fences to check out something that has caught your eye, like that incredibly red tree that was totally covered with apples.”  I said “Oh, I know where that place is, is it Garfield, or is it Oakesdale?” and she said, “I don't know, but I'd recognize the tree.”  Meanwhile the cat is playing with a dried medlar fruit on the kitchen floor.

You know you are a plant geek when you always carry pruners in your car, and the envelopes in the glove compartment are more likely to be full of seeds than stamps, and you know where all the color variations of camas are in the region, and your ideal garment in a photographer's vest with dozens of little pockets loaded with Ziploc bags.

I know I'm a plant geek because not only do I know my region by where I've collected particular plants, but our yard is a testament to our collecting: Here by the driveway are the bearded irises from the lot behind the hospital in Clarkston, here's the Alaskan yellow cedar from the permaculture design course on the Kitsap. Here's the Camas leichtlinii from the garden in Olympia, here's the true tansy that J. brought back from Elk River. Here's the Harrison's Yellow rose that was being sprayed on the Troy highway, here's the lesser celandine from my mother's garden, and here is the row of very old bronze bearded iris K. brought from her father's garden in New Jersey. Here's the flowering quince from when they widened Main Street, and here's the old white lilac from the same yard. Here is the hawthorn that Dan found lying in the road, and under it is the camas from north of Deary. My life is mapped in plants.

Suvia, of Moscow, collects plants everywhere.