You know what I love about plants?

You know what I love about plants?

They don’t hold on to time. They don’t hold onto stories and identities, even if we name them and give them one. They don’t try to give me a story or tell me who I should be; the plants just do their thing. I can't tell them what to do, well I can but they don’t listen. They are connected to their own wisdom. It’s not my command that will make a plant grow, I don’t control them. Sure I experiment with their environment, but it's within them to push on.

They take what the environment gives them and they grow or they die. Or they start to wither away until you figure out a better environment. This is the job of a plant parent; I give my plants the best environment I can for them to grow. Now others may have their own description for the job, or they might not have a fucking clue what the job entails. But I feel a certain level of responsibility for my plants, that I want to be a proud plant parent and take care of them the best I can you know?

Do they care about me?

Okay well I can’t pretend to answer that for sure. There is a part of me that thinks maybe they do care about me… I celebrate their blossoms and growth, sing to them, water and wash them. They bring me so much joy; and as much as I might wish they did that for me, I do not think that is so. Kind of a selfish thought, that they do that for me. They are not beautiful for me, but they are beautiful to me. So maybe I am the selfish one, taking care of them to bring beauty into my own life. Somehow we live for our own needs and yet we are both taking care of each other.

Do they like my voice?

I heard that plants will grow more if you speak to them with encouragement, with love. They are the best audience for someone who is learning to embrace her voice instead of hiding it. To remember that I too express beauty, but not for beauty. That it is a gift of vibration from the heart when I sing to them. When I connect with them and share songs, we are both in raw form. I like to think when I hear the call to sing to them that it is somehow from them.

Have you ever noticed that plants make it feel like home?

I spent five years moving from place to place, country to country. I had no need for roots, for a conventional sense of home. The commitment of a plant, or anything turned me off. I wanted to be free and flow wherever life was leading me. In October of 2019 I flew home to visit family, and 4 days after I landed my mom’s house burnt down. There was a whisper to stay, and though a part of me planned and plotted for another escape, I decided it was no longer a time to run. Sorting through the ashes of my childhood, was a reminder that home is not just a place or time. We still had our we, our family, and that was the most important thing. We may have lost the photos, but the memories and lessons live on in our bodies. That from the ashes there comes new life, new growth, and new opportunity. I took a job to stay and in January they gave me my first plant. This was a sign to me that I truly had decided to put some roots down.

This plant was nothing spectacular, a left over from the event, and yet I connected to it deeply. I did not know much about plants, but I was willing to learn and grow with it. I took it home to a basement suite that was cluttered and all the windows had garbage bags or blankets covering them; not really a home for a plant. It was my fathers place, where I was living when I returned. The energy was not one of growth. So I inspired (and pushed) my dad to clean, clear and make space for new. We did it together and soon my plant had its own fresh area.

We were amongst the dark days, it was cold and the sun was gone by early evening. This was an especially hard time for me, for it was a battle to get out in nature where I felt most myself. Though my plant reminded me of this connection, I was not filled. After I left a window open the cold shocked my plant and I began to lose them too. Lesson #1: don’t leave your windows open in winter. I was not giving up though and had made plans to find us a better environment; learning that responsibility was up to me.

I needed more space, like a plant whose roots are bound in a small pot, I felt trapped. It was time for me to expand, and so I planted the seed for a house swap. My Dad had shared he too was ready for expansion, but not a move. His girlfriend has a son my age, and they used to rent out a room in their house so I suggested she and I swap. That I would find a roommate and we could both pay rent making it a win-win sort of scenario. Once the seed was planted all I could do was just wait and see, if it was meant to grow it would come to be. A couple months and a few deep cleans later we had a new (big) space. Just in time for the world to shut down and tell us to stay inside.

With so much space I took it as an invitation to fill. At this point I had purchased my first plants, a little aloe, succulent and air plant. Tinie tiny guys so I could watch them grow. Lesson #2: If you leave your windows open at night, you will shrink your air plant. Apparently I am the kind of person who has to let the lesson sink in a couple of ways.

Everywhere I went I was drawn to the plants, collecting broken leaves from costco, taking clippings from friends' houses, or finding myself wandering greenhouses. My roommate had put an ad on kijiji so we even got to welcome castaways. Slowly the house started blooming and as we all settled into the new space they brought a sense of home.

Does it feel like home for them?

Wanting to be a good plant parent I felt inspired to make them their own spaces as much as I could. To build for their beauty. My roommate and I built a hanging display with 3 layers of five foot long shelves to sit in front of the window. A drill, scissors and some sandpaper brought together a space dedicated to the plants. It brings me joy everyday to appreciate them and see what they inspired me to create. To fill their area with new life, other tokens of beauty and trinkets of inspiration.

The house had an old wooden ladder in the backyard, left to wither away, collecting fungi and spider nests; but this wood still had life, all it needed was a chance. Plus my plant family was still growing, so I touched it up and another nook of the house was brightened up. Trees are like all of our ancient grandparents, so it feels right to have them supporting my plants.

Do they feel connected to me?

It is no secret by now that these plants have a special place in my heart, their presence gives me peace and ease. My favourite place is in front of the floating triangle I built for my sacred space. I dedicated it to be my alter; filling it with pieces and plants that I feel connected to, that bring me connection. Whenever I sit in this space it feels healing, like I am being held. That somehow the plants are holding space for me. They simply witness and allow me to process, cry, scream, dance all without feeling alone. When their new leaves sprout out, I can’t help but wonder if they are reaching towards me.

Do they know I love them?

It's always a big day when I have to clip my plants. Bringing the blade to them is this strange counter intuitive feeling, how can I cut these beings I love? Well exactly that, because I love them. Sometimes the thing we need to grow more is actually to make space, to release parts of us. I was gifted a set of Fiskars tools when my love of green was apparent to… well everyone. They add to the ritual of propagating new life, my special tools. So even when I have to do the hard parts of being a plant parent, there is magic infused. Then I get to gift the things I love most to people and watch new life emerge stronger.

I wonder if they can feel my longing?

There is this deep desire for me to feel understood by the people around me. Travelling was easy to find people who got me, we were all called out to be explorers. Coming home was different as it felt like I was someone else trying to fit back into my old world. It was hard to settle in but the plants grounded me, they understood me. I don't have to explain myself or think too much; they easily accept my excited inner child. Mixing new dirts, specially collecting or painting pots; all coming together for the final display. It is a time for me too release some of the pressures of our world, of my internal world. For me to feel welcomed just as I am.

Do they know they are teachers?

With the pause in the world and nowhere to run, I took it as an opportunity to finally go into my internal world. My plants and garden taught me a lot, like what an environment of growth can do; that I was the same as them, an extension of Mama Earth; that I too hold unique beauty and can grow fruits of labour.

But I had to connect to my own wisdom, just like them. This process was me treating my inner landscape like a garden that had been run over with weeds. It took time and intention to reclaim this inner garden. It would have been easy to feel lost in the chaos within, but the plants were always there for me; to get my hands in the dirt and remember this connection. To remember that my seeds can grow if I am willing to nurture and create an environment of growth for them.