For much of my life, I joked that I have a brown thumb, that my house is where green things come to die. But something’s changed in the past few years. I’ve started keeping house plants alive. A while ago, I decided to try the experiment of talking to them to see if it would help them do more than cling to the last vestiges of life and actually begin thriving.
I believed it was hokum, even as I started doing it. But it turns out my three indoor specimens of indoor potted vegetation have perked up, greened up, and look truly healthy. It’s not because I say good morning to them every day. It’s because putting this practice into my daily routine reminds me to open the curtains to give them sunlight, along with checking the soil to see if they need water.
When I pass by one of my plants and ask “How ya doing today?” they don’t know it means I care. My utterances don’t provide the self esteem needed for mental and physical health, as it they would for humans. But making a point of interacting with my plants does cause me to notice if any leaves are turning brown and need pinched off, to think about how long it’s been since I put plant food spikes in the dirt.
The words I’m saying don’t matter. Or do they? I’m convinced my plants would have responded in the same way had I said nothing to them at all. But would I have responded to them in the same way? Become as nurturing? Noticed their needs? Speaking to them reminds me they are indeed living things that need attention and care. Maybe this is a tiny example of how we change the world by changing ourselves.
I just told the Christmas cactus on my desk that I’m posting its photo on the internet. Since it didn’t object, I’m going to go ahead and click that “publish” button.