Plant Confidence
I have always loved plants and nature. I’ve tried since I was a child to grow and nurture plants. Growing up on farms with large family gardens, I know many of the principles behind the successful care of plants. I have had numerous accomplishments in raising a variety of fauna, but for 30 years I had not been able to replicate that with flora.
Several years ago, I was talking to a colleague about wanting to get a plant but having a history of being terrible at keeping them alive and she offered me one of hers. She had a pothos vine that had been surviving in our office in downtown Chicago with a fair amount of neglect. Her husband had told her she couldn’t bring home any new plants unless she got rid of some and she had her eye on a few new ones at the garden center. She had a second pothos at home that was in better health that she would bring to the office. So I could have the best chance at not ending another innocent, green life.
I got that pothos home to my apartment and it grew and grew and became an impressive specimen. It grew and grew and I began to place hooks on the wall and train the vines up and across the windows of my little studio. After more than a year, I started to feel confident. I decided to actually pay money to build my plant family. I found an online company that sold plants and had explanations for the ideal climate and care for them. I studied their site. Spending weeks trying to make the best choice for me and my apartment (and my dog who I’d had for close to 10 years by then), I double checked their descriptions with other websites and blogs.
Finally, I bought a little Norfolk Island pine plant suitable to the lighting and humidity in my apartment. And pet friendly, just in case.
It didn’t grow much, but it stayed green. It passed the 1-year mark and I celebrated my achievement.
It even survived an 800-mile move.
But then, it seemed to just give up.
My little tree started to look less green. Its branches began drooping, then drying out. The tips started turning a light brown color. I couldn’t believe it after all the care I’d put in.
My plant was failing and I was failing.
I had lost my job a year before the the tree started its decline, but I had been limping along and surviving with freelance work. I’d had some health scares but had come out with a clean bill of health. I kept making it through, though. Caring for my pothos, my dog and this tree. My dog became ill about 6 months before his 13th birthday. I was devastated but I had always known this day would come with a dog and I was somewhat prepared. He passed and I struggled on, caring for my two plants.
But only one was thriving. The pothos had continued growing and I had propagated it and given the new plants away. It continued on its untroubled ways, but the little Norfolk Island pine was deteriorating.
I tried more water. I tried less water. I tried more sun. Less sun. Soil with fertilizer. Thinking good thoughts. I left it with my parents (along with the pothos, which was still thriving) while I went to Europe for almost 4 months. My dad tried repotting it with even more fertilizer. Nothing helped. It actually got worse. Full branches were turning brown and falling off.
My mental state became connected to this tree.
The more I tried the more frustrated I became with it and myself. How could I have let this happen? I had prepared. I had consulted experts. I’d asked others for help. Nothing worked for me or it. We were in a slow, downward spiral.
But it kept living.
It’s been over a year since I first thought of giving up on my little tree. I haven’t had the stomach to really give up. It still has green bits and occasionally it has new buds. It’s not a success by any means. More branches fell off just last week.
Many weeks, I want to give up. I want to turn away from it. I want to lie down and wallow in the disappointment. But, somehow, I still have hope.
It keeps living. It refuses to die.
And I continue on.
