One result of the pandemic and spending so much time at home has been my discovery that I can actually parent plants without killing them. I would attribute my improved green thumb to being older and wiser and having finally accepted that overwatering is both the biggest temptation and the biggest mistake. If I’m honest, though, I think just having better light is the real secret to my current success.
When I moved in here, I was all set to spend time taking care of myself after several years of having no home of my own. The pandemic was starting to wind up, and everybody else was staying home, too, discovering the joys (and pains) of enforced domestic life. I had already experienced a period of more or less involuntary solitude during several years of job-hunting. During that time, I worked on learning to make a proper biscuit, did some writing, and read a lot. I wouldn’t say that was a happy time, but I think I made the most of it.
This time, beginning in a new apartment with some difficult years behind me, I was happy to just concentrate on making a home. The first time I walked in here, I was able to picture just where everything should go and what it would look like once my things were here. I instantly knew where I wanted my Christmas tree to be, even though the holidays were months away. I also knew I wanted flowers on the porch.
I started my plant adventures with porch plants only: container flowers, and a pothos for an accent table that I ended up bringing inside at the end of the first summer. The pothos liked being outside but seemed to enjoy the indoors even more, and the flowers loved the porch. Slowly, as I developed a routine of caring for one plant, I’d add another one. The pothos went back outside for the second summer, along with more flowers, and I got an African violet to take its place in the living room. That was my one failure, as I couldn’t seem to figure out what it wanted before it gave up the ghost and wilted quite away.
The African violet didn’t seem to like too much of anything, either water or sun, and was extremely insulted by any moisture that might accidentally touch its leaves. My grandmother had African violets on her kitchen windowsill for years, and this had lulled me into thinking they were low maintenance, though after I thought about it, I realized hers must have had a northerly exposure. The stronger light here didn’t suit them (or might have if I hadn’t overwatered them first), but—oh, well. They were an impulse buy, so lesson learned. It was like trying to take care of a debutante.
I went about acquiring plants with some method in mind (usually): I did research to find out which ones would be likely to do well here without requiring too much fussing. If it was easy-care and I liked the way it looked, I’d go to the nursery center and look for one. Last year, I got a spider plant mixed in with a zebrina for the porch once I decided to give the pothos a permanent spot inside. When I brought it in last fall, I had to cut most of the zebrina out, but the spider plant is still thriving. After I rearranged some things to accommodate my washer, I got a snake plant for a bookcase that had been promoted to the dining room. Although I worried at first that it wouldn’t get enough light where it is, it has proved me wrong by insistently sending up new shoots.
While my assemblage is pretty modest, it’s added what I now know was a missing dimension in my past living spaces. The splashes of green give color to the rooms and serve as reminders that even in the mist of crisis, life goes on, patiently putting up shoots that grow by infinite degrees, making the most of all the light and water that come their way. I may never be a master gardener, but I think I have come to an understanding with my plant children. I give them what they need and then just try to stay out of the way.
