I’ve had my hands in dirt since I was 10 and planted my first cactus garden. It took weeks and multiple thorns in my fingers to complete. When we moved, it was the only thing I was sad to leave. In the years since, I’ve planted bottle brushes in Sarasota, crape myrtles in Nashville, a pine in Seattle, crocus bulbs in Sun Valley, philodendrons in New York, and now a kumquat, Meyer lemon, agave and sunflower garden in Tucson.
Gardening grounds you and boosts your mental health. It’s hard to feel blue when that first sunflower opens. Watching a seed blossom into something unique is like watching a child become an adult in slow motion. It’s magical. Since pruning is not my forte, I’m inclined to let plants grow where they may, just as I have my own children. Nature knows best. My job is simply to nurture.
Recently, I had friends over who marveled at my houseplants bounding out of their pots and cascading across the floor. They wanted to know the secret of my ‘green thumb.’ It’s simple. I think of them as sentient and treat them as such. If they’re in plastic pots, they will suffocate. (Nurseries often sell plants in plastic knowing they won’t last). Once I transplant them into bigger, clay pots, I free the roots a bit with a fork, add water, sunshine, and sometimes sing.
In 1973, Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird wrote, “The Secret Life of Plants,” claiming that plants “had feelings” and “could communicate with other plants.” It was controversial at the time, but later gained scientific credence. Stevie Wonder even wrote the soundtrack for the movie. As someone who’s grown both plants and babies, I don’t need science to tell me that a seed, the embryo of all creation, is a flat out miracle.
Years ago, I sold a plant that I grew from an avocado seed for $25 on Craig’s List. I thought the man who bought it was nuts. He was in awe.
“I’ve been trying to grow one of these my whole life,” he confided. “What’s your secret?”
“Imagine it’s someone you love,” I replied.
“Give her space to spread her roots. When she’s thirsty add water. If she droops, place her in sunlight. Then? Just love her and hope for the best.”
In the final line of “Candide” Voltaire writes: “Il faut cultiver le jardin,” meaning “One must tend to ones’ own garden.” He believed we should keep to ourselves and avoid the problems of the world at large. A good message these days, n’est-ce-pas?
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