56 minutes ago
Saturday, April 17, 2010
I don’t want to get all Martha Stewart on you guys, but I’m actually getting attached to the garden in my building. There is something about the color of the flowers and the texture of the leaves that instills in me an incredible amount of peace. It’s during these times that I regret not having a permanent place of my own where I could have my own personal garden.
I know next to nothing about gardening. The truth is that every plant I have ever had has suffered a slow, painful death under my care. There was the small potted plant on my desk in college that ended up in the garbage after 3 weeks. Another 3-4 plants died mysteriously when my folks left the country and left me in charge. And let’s not even get into the time I tried to grow spices in my apartment in NYC.
I never really understood the roots of my plant murder spree. Maybe I just wasn’t all that conscientious about watering them properly. Or maybe the cause is deeper. Maybe my plants died because I never really understood them.
After spending weeks walking by this garden I’ve noticed things that, while obvious to those who love plants and flowers, came as an absolute shock to me: plants are living, breathing, miracles of nature. Their growth and shape is determined by the contours of their surroundings. They react to sunlight, cold, warmth and rain. You can casually spot a flower bud in the morning and come home to see a beautiful fully-grown flower. Plants MOVE during the day.
Plants are ALIVE.