Plant Your Grief, Harvest Some Joy
You could be surprised.
I never understood the appeal of gardening. On your knees, in the dirt and grass. Pulling weeds, watering, trimming, and maybe growing flowers and/or veggies. Worst thing me for — dirt ground under my fingernails.
My Nana could make anything grow. I have one indelible mental picture of the night she headed into the yard with the butcher knife, awaiting the first uplift of ground when the mole aimed for the buffet in the yard.
For my husband Dean and I, pothos and cactus in Arizona were our major successes. The Sonoran Desert is a harsh Mom. We harvested cactus from the roadside, armed with gloves and newspaper to hold our cuttings, and well-aware of what was illegal to take from the environment.
Anything else we attempted indoors was a waste of time and effort, and I felt guilty about the money spent on the plants and their subsequent demise. But outside our bougainvillea, cats’ claw, and oleander gave us hours of colorful enjoyment when it was possible to sit outside.
We returned to Vermont, humidity, and an intense love of everything green. Our planting lives would improve as we added greenery to our bedroom after Googling “house plants that can resist death.” The nursery recommended arrowhead and mother-in-law tongue, along with our…
