Not *everything* I grow is a nusiance plant

You have to be pretty sturdy, plantwise, to make it at my house. That goes for both indoor and outdoor varieties. I know God made a wonderful world, and He loves it. When I get to Heaven, if I have to account for every living thing (plants, aquarium fish) that have died at my hands, I’m in big trouble.

I’m completely taken in by the beauty of nurseries that I visit. Despite my relatively poor track record with plants, I walk through those lush places and my heart says, “I can do this, too.” My brain struggles to be heard. “NO! No you can’t!”

I have learned to stay away from the delicate, fragile, needy plants, like fuchsias. I saw some of them in Washington when my sister lived there and in central California, when I was visiting friends. They are stunning. When I saw them in a nursery in Fort Worth, I couldn’t believe it. “I didn’t think they grew here,” I said to the nursery guy. “Oh, yes,” he said.

Oh, no. They don’t. At least not for me. I even saw some in a nursery here in Waco. I was cured of my fuchsia fetish by then (after the quick demise of four plants during two different summers). But I walked among them that day, and quietly apologized to them for the trauma they were about to experience after someone bought them, thinking they could grow here. Sometimes, when I take plants home from a nursery, I can almost hear their little voices pleading for assistance. “No, no, we don’t want to go with her. Help us, please. Save us.”

I’m also lured by the beautiful arrangements I see at the nurseries. Those groupings of several kinds of plants, all living harmoniously in a large container.

Heart: “I can do that.”

Brain:  No, you can’t.

But I really like the way those succulent bowls look. I’ve tried to create a couple of my own, with spotty success. One large pot had several different kinds of things, for a while. Over time, most gave up (front porch sweltering summer, lack of regular watering). But one of the plants, and I don’t know what its name is (let’s call her Constance) not only lived, year after year, but also spread, taking over the whole container. You’ve met Constance before. She’s the plant that has a squirrel-induced pecan tree growing in the middle of her hood.

April (my daughter-in-law, not another plant) has something similar. When the leaves fall off her plant, she sticks them into some dirt and they root and grow brand new selves. Sometimes Constance drops leaves, and sometimes she drops whole branches of herself. I like to think of that as downsizing, purging herself of unneeded baggage. I could take them to Goodwill, as I do my purged stuff, but instead I sweep them off the porch, into the flower bed below, where they recycle themselves as mulchish sort of stuff, which I think is valuable to the ecosystem.

All the top parts of Constance seek light, and, just like sunflowers, they face the sunshine. So, occasionally, I turn her, and behold, after a while, they all turn around. I’m very fond of Constance. And now look what she’s doing!!

This long stem had leaves on it, once upon a time. And they’ve fallen off, I suppose, because of moisture stress. Or maybe cold weather, as Constance stays on the porch all winter. Anyway, I just noticed a few days ago that Constance must be having a great year, because she’s putting out new growth along this stem. Way to go, girl.

If I were a more capable plant person, I might take cuttings or attempt to peel off those new little plantlets and try to grow them in another container. I think that’s just asking for trouble. I’m leaving her alone. Maybe she’ll bloom again.

For you will go out with joy
And be led forth with peace;
The mountains and the hills will break forth into shouts of joy before you,
And all the trees of the field will clap their hands.
Isaiah 55:12 (NASB)

When I taught Preschool Choir, years ago, we often sang a song about God’s beautiful world and how we loved it. I do love God’s beautiful world. Some parts are more beautiful to me than others, but I can appreciate all the remarkable things He made. I wonder, if I sat close to Constance, on a still, still night, would I hear her joyful hand-clapping?