Monkeys and marine cows who have ventured into my duck's dingy den would know that I indulge in the arcane art of underwater gardening. In three-dimensional receptacles of glass or acrylic, my duck dives into peaty waters to work in an emulsion of fish poo, shrimp shells and decaying organic matter of piscine origin.
Don't diss this past-time. It's virulent enough to spawn lawsuits and earnest discussions on free speech in less tethered regions. But in these more peaceful parts, where the release of honest feelings is frowned upon, the most that this pursuit triggers is an occasional eruption of fervour for finely-whorled stems.
Many suffer from the misconception that this hobby is relaxing. Far from, it engages my duck from night to day and day to night (the latter is preferable in that it prevents mrs budak from witnessing the resulting gore and mess) and clings to the mind like a gutless leech that sucks out nervoids of thought to leave behind a gibberish clutter obsessed with green. Maybe that's where the term 'vegetative state' comes from.
The task often involves the judicious injection of carbon dioxide into aquaria. Too little and the plants won't thrive. Too much and the fish will take a fast train to that big fish tank in the sky. Beings of celluloid construction are also surprisingly ravenous, turning a sickly yellow and refusing to grow when denied regular feedings of nitrate, phosphate, potassium, chelated iron and Swedish massages. They also like to bask in the gleam of waves of visible electromagnetic spectrum of between 6500 and 8000 Kelvin, producing red hot orgasms of anthocyanin when pleased but breaking out into destructive gremlins should the light dim.
In ancient times, before the invention of internet forums, the devious few who partook of this activity did so silently, relying on their own talents for marrying toolfoolery with aquatic aesthetics. Nowadays, the hobby comes in mass-produced outfits of ready-made setups available for instant take-home enjoyment and a competitive range of hardware for the technologically-possessed. Such packages rarely last more than a moon, and there is a long learning curve for those dedicated enough to memorise KH/pH/CO2 tables and undergo a crash course in horticultural botany.
But why slave over bags of gravel and bushels of limp nodes to create that emerald dreamscape when one could more conveniently engage the services of professionals? Surely you don't harbour the notion that the management of Wisma Atria spend a few hours each day seeking out victims to feed the pair of black-tip reef sharks in their basement foyer? Why do that when such tasks can be outsourced?
Well, that's just what a couple of fellows I know are offering. Green Chapter is a start-up specialising in setting up and maintaining planted and marine aquaria for individuals and institutions who yearn for a little slice of nature within their cold and heartless walls. They got things going a couple of years ago and have built up enough goodwill to open a showroom in Clementi (Blk 354, Clementi Ave 2, #01-203) where a good range of their capabilities is showcased. The pictures in this post were all taken at the showroom, which boasts a 10 foot setup of cryptocorynes and ferns optimised for easy upkeep. I can't say how much their services cost, but can at least assure curious readers that should you engage them, you will not have to hunt for duck droppings to obtain a source of nutrients for your swordplants and your homes and offices will not have to double as mini laboratories and repositories of cyanobacteria. Think of it as sparing yourself a tankless task.
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