If I had to guess, I’d say that roughly half of the campus population cares for at least one plant. Although I’m sure some harbor veritable rainforests within their 100 sq. ft. rooms, I can safely say that among my friend group, I have the largest collection of plants.
During the past year I have accumulated: a snake plant I found waiting for garbage collectors back home; a baby pothos I propagated from a severed leaf belonging to a large plant in Schapiro; 5 Christmas cactus leaflings I cut from my sister’s which refuse to grow in the soil; my friend’s hoya; another’s spider plant; 6 periwinkle vines I stole from my backyard; a chenille plant which hates every fiber of my being; a jade plant a professor had graciously given us all; an aloe succulent I saved from the Walmart gardening clearance section; and a paintbrush plant in a gorgeous white pot.
Taking care of them repeatedly reminds me to take care of myself, too. I’ve killed two plants so far, one from neglect and one from a stupid mistake–I overwatered my lemongrass plant before spring break out of fear that the soil would dry out. However, I once killed an 8-foot long periwinkle vine (also sourced from my backyard) when I was sick with COVID. I was floored when I saw the brittle leaves–I had pulled that particular plant out of the soil along with other weeds a whole year prior, and it was frustrating that all the care I put into its maintenance had been for naught. In addition, it’s always upsetting to kill a living thing; most of my plants have been rescued or are on loan from people who can’t take care of them at the moment. Even though it seems silly, I internalized the loss of that plant, and since then, I take extra care to check on my plants when I’m sick and/ or lack motivation to take care of myself.
I also struggle with considering future implications of my actions; when I’m restless, I become impulsive. Propagating in particular has helped me better conceptualize the passage of time. The pothos leaf took two months to form roots; at a certain point, I was checking it every day, anxious that the leaf would simply rot in the water. But lo and behold–a month later, it was ready for soil. Now, it has five leaves and is working on sprouting a sixth; I still get impatient, checking often if the leaf shows any signs of unfurling. But, I do feel better knowing that since it’ll happen eventually, I don’t need to stress.
Overall, it’s been so rewarding to foster the growth of 10 different species hailing from all over the world. The fact that I purposely paid for only the aloe complements the eclectic collection I have really nicely; even though all my plants have haphazard origins, they’ve found a place on my windowsill, which I find really beautiful.