Philosophy of Plants

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.

Worlds Collide

I know I’ve talked before about my love of HGTV but am not sure I mentioned how much I enjoy looking at not only regular homes but also tiny homes. While I suppose I’d rather live in a regular house in the long term, I can also imagine being happy in a tiny home, at least for a while. I know ya’ll have heard all about this movement, which has been fed by a widespread wish to downsize and simplify, and although some of those tiny homes can be quite pricey, living in one would certainly cut down on cleaning and maintenance. Dusting the furniture is infinitely more manageable in an oversized dollhouse than in a mansion, and washing the dishes is a breeze when you can’t have more than two plates on the table.

I have some experience with living in small spaces—from dorm rooms to a sleeping bag—and while I was horrified a few years ago at the thought of living in less than 200 square feet, I now find that laughable. Living in your car will definitely adjust your ideas of space, but even before that, I was intrigued by the idea of tiny houses purely from a design perspective. It’s the spatial equivalent of haiku: how do you get the most out of a small amount of space? How do you put in everything essential and nothing that isn’t and do it with style? You have to think through every square inch and carefully consider what you need and what you don’t. If you can make items do double duty or fold away when you’re not using them, so much the better. And you will almost certainly have to think creatively about how to accommodate ordinary tasks.

Because I work with appliances, I know that there are tiny washers and dryers that would remind you of the play kitchens you had as a child except that they actually work; you can even get a combo washer/dryer that does the work of both in a single machine. In fact, a lot of the tiny home kitchens, with their miniature sinks, quarter-size fridges, and built-in ovens, remind me of the exact toy kitchen that fascinated me as a child (I had one with a tiny sink that actually worked if you put water in the tray in back). You can also place a fully functioning bathroom in a space the size of a small shower stall, albeit what you have is basically a bathroom inside a shower. There is something about the idea of miniaturizing things that is intriguing in and of itself. (Ever noticed how difficult it is to walk by an elaborately furnished dollhouse without looking inside? It’s ourselves, writ small. Why is that so interesting?)

Beyond all that, I just find the thought of living in a tiny home cozy—I’ve never been one for big, drafty houses. Of course, I’m imagining doing all of this by myself. If you were to try to share a tiny home with a partner or a family, I’m sure the lack of space could become an irritation very, very quickly. I understand that many people who’ve attempted the tiny house experiment have found it didn’t work for them and ended up going back to more conventional housing. I imagine it’s usually the lack of privacy and personal space that does it.

All of this shows what a preoccupation with Hestia concerns I have right now, which is not at all surprising given the circumstances. I fantasize about houses all the time, how I would furnish them, what colors I would use, where I would plant the flowers. With all of the Game of Thrones ruckus going on, I thought it might be a good idea to turn my attention to something else for this week’s post, scaling down, as it were, from the big picture to the small, from the epic to the domestic. Sometimes these things get mixed up with each other: early this morning, I dreamed I had moved into a compact, modern apartment that had lofted sleeping spaces and then realized Jaime Lannister was my roommate. We were looking out the window together when I woke up, still in my car.

Yes, folks, there are times when morning comes a little too soon. The only thing to do then is to head over to the coffeehouse for hot tea, banana bread, and blogging. Which I have done.