Ready for a fact about me that might surprise you?
Despite my love for gardening and my years of experience as a wild forager and herbalist, I have a long, unfortunate history with houseplants.
This has been both self-inflicted and accidental. As a former educator for various age groups of children and teens, I have been given more than my fair share of houseplants as well-intentioned gifts over the years. I’ve “won” plants from raffles, been given them as party favors, and even had a few for a while that were housewarming gifts.
(Sidenote: next time you’re toying with the idea of giving someone an orchid as a gift, just don’t do it. Unless they expressly tell you that orchids are their favorite thing on the planet, they will not take proper care of it, and the guilt of its passing will tear them apart. Mark my words.)
And yes, I have even purchased a fair few potted plants for myself over the years, thinking I could be a houseplant person. In fact, the succulent craze of the 2010s reached its peak during my 20s, and as a basic, semi-urban-dwelling young woman with my own modest income, I did not escape the trend.
Guess what? All of those plants are dead. Every single one of them. Long gone.
And there are no prizes for guessing why. I did not take proper care of them, pure and simple. I committed to the idea of them, but not the reality. And I bought the lie that certain houseplants are “foolproof” and “unkillable”, which is just silly. Anything, when mistreated, will cease to live. Even a succulent, who can survive the rigors of the harshest desert, will die in a musty basement apartment when overwatered by a frazzled daycare teacher who hasn’t done even the most basic research.
But I took my houseplant mortality rate a step further and convinced myself that I’m just “not a houseplant person”. That I am incapable of discipline or the proper plant-care homework, or even that the plants “don’t like me”.
I labored under this assumption for a long time. Years. And still, sometimes I bought houseplants to try and prove myself wrong, and they withered quickly under my nervous touch.
But when we moved away from the city and onto this land, and I was suddenly given space to garden outside for the first time, I had to reconcile what I knew about myself as a plant person. I could grow things. I know how. But that’s because I’ve put in the work—which is continuous and ever-expanding—to learn what each plant in my garden needs, memorize it, and apply it. Owning mistakes and getting better every year. Recognizing that, yes, some plants need more space or care or a different climate than I am able to give, but that isn’t something to punish myself for. Some plants are a good fit and some aren’t, but the difference is mostly about commitment.
All that to say, this week I bought houseplants.
Five of them.
And they are lined up on the office windowsill, staring back at me as I type this.
I bought them because spring is coming, and I needed green. I bought them because hope springs eternal. But mostly, I bought them because I decided that I truly want to learn how to care for them.
I want to commit to their growth, not just cross my fingers and hope they survive. I want to do the proper research and make sure I’m giving them what they need. Treat them like I would treat my garden plants: as a work in progress, and as an opportunity for both literal and metaphorical growth.
The season for growing is at hand, and the green fire of Imbolc is lit. The God of the Garden is the God of the Windowsill, and hope is the language of His compassion as we stumble forward into the spring-scented unknown, following after His footsteps.
Thank you for reading!
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After all the problems you've had with plants, I applaud you for trying again. It's just like with other things in life, you can never give up. The bad luck has to go away! I'll be interested to see if they survive this time. Keep us updated.
I once received a cactus as a gift, when I was in my early teens I think. I loved it, I couldn't tell you why. It was mine, and it was alive. And it was a cactus so I took that as license to not take care of it.
It died, naturally. I used to joke with my friends that a plant that can survive the most inhospitable environments in the world cannot survive in my room. RIP, that one cactus from many years ago. Maybe I'll try again someday, once I take the time to learn how to care for it.