It’s always been a running joke that I had a black thumb. I loved planting things and having flowers, but Gramma always came up weekly and reminded me which ones to water and fertilize. She sometimes just did it all herself. Most of my plants died every summer, and only a pothos lived inside (I couldn’t kill that thing no matter what I did or didn’t do to it).
Since Gramma died, I’ve been growing all sorts of plants. I started off small with three African violets that someone sent to the funeral home, and they stayed alive. I added a few plants here and there, and I sort of figured it out over the past four years through trial and error which ones liked full sun or needed indirect light or drooped because they didn’t get enough water or turned yellow because they got too much water, etc.
When Gramma was getting really sick, I remember laying there cuddled up with her and saying, “I wish I could grow plants like you – you can plant a stick, and it’ll root!” She told me if there was a way, she’d pass her green thumb to me.
I think she did it. I now have vibrant healthy plants in the kitchen, living room, my office, and the guest room (and perennials outside). Puttering with plants gives me so much joy, and it makes me feel closer to her. I talk to the plants as I check them every day or as I water them or prune them, and I’ve set up an Alexa Dot as an experiment to play the plants in the guest bedroom classical music for four hours a day just to see if they grow faster.
Thanks, Gramma! I don’t know how you did it, but I’m so grateful that you did! I’ll pass it on when my time’s up, too!