#plantemon

Episode 3: A Plantémon Emergency!!

Hi, friends! Cait here. By now it’s been a couple of weeks since Beto’s and my journey as newbie Pokégardeners began and so far it’s been a whirlwind. (And that’s without any flying Plantémon!)

Our planting adventure began with a string of cool, sunny days, with only brief visits from San Francisco’s long-time associate, Karl the Fog. Our Plantémon leveled up, growing stronger and taller every day. In fact, our trouts soon grew enough to fill their PC container. (I’d heard that Goldeens do that, but I guess it’s true of all water Plantémon!)

All was well, until one day we noticed one of our fire Plantémon, Char(d)mander, acting out. At first we attributed it to his Swiss roots, but his chardy counterplants didn’t seem to possess his same roguish nature. He was pushing over some of his fellow Plantémon, soaking up their water, and just being an overall jerk. We couldn’t connect with him, and it got so bad that we thought we might have to move him into his own PC.

But then one night the clouds came. A sturdy wind picked up and rustled the PC’s protective cages, jostling the Plantémon inside. The Hitmon-kales ceased their battle momentarily to band together against the gusts. Prof. Archie looked toward the skies, his small clay beak agape.

Next the rains started. They began gradually at first, but soon giant drops were splashing down onto the deck, filling the Plantémon’s containers with more water than they had yet encountered in their short lives. The trouts adapted to it well, relishing the extra moisture. The butters seemed fine with the extra water too, even though they didn’t much care for the wind. Frankly, we don’t think the herbs even noticed. But there was one PC that was effected more than the others by the downpour: our fire Plantémon, the chards.

I’m not 100% sure what happened next, so the following tale is partly speculation. If you recall from our previous post, our chard PC had a secret ditto in its midst, nestled amongst the fire Plantémon. I’m not sure of the exact Plantémon it might have transformed into (we think it might have been a Vileplume, with its expansive flower), I only know that when I woke to check on them the next day, the chards had made it through, their leaves alight.

But one of them didn’t look so hot. You guessed it — Char(d)mander. His headstrong nature had led him to try and fend for himself in the storm, and his leaves drooped, overcome with the weight of the water. Quickly, I removed some of the pooled water from his soil and pointed him toward the emerging sun. The day went on and things looked bleak.

The next morning, the clouds had parted and the sun rose from behind the gleaming hills. I hurried out to the garden, hoping the little chard had managed to pull through the night. And he had! Not only had his spark returned, but something about his nature felt softer, kinder. He was cooperating with the other chard— respectful, even. He stopped stealing their water (perhaps he had gotten enough for one lifetime), and was respectful of their leaves. Our once hotheaded plantémon had reformed!