I don’t consider myself a plant mama. They are more like my girlfriends. I grew up with my grandmother (the plant grandmama) in Trinidad and Tobago and she had a huge flower/plant garden, which I was partly responsible for maintaining. And by maintaining, I mean removing the weeds and cleaning up the dead leaves.
Though it was a lot of work, or so I thought at the time, it was somewhat enjoyable. However, that enjoyment ended when I was assaulted (that’s how I felt) by a swarm of wasps.
From that day forward, plants were on my “don’t mess with” list. That list lasted for a very long time. My grandmother continued nurturing her garden with her incredible green thumb and her love for plants. Then for some unknown reason, in 2013, I began experience a yearning for plants. Of course, I was hesitant and doubtful. But my darling grandmother, who spends summers with us said, “get one, I’ll take care of it.” I got one and she sure took care of it.
Long story short, she went back to Trinidad in the fall and left me with the plant, which I had no other choice but to care for. To my surprise, it didn’t die and still hasn’t died. That one led to two, and three and four. Some have died along the way but most have survived.
There’s a sense of fulfillment when I’m tending to them. In addition, it connects me to one my greatest loves, my grandmother. I feel her presence wherever there are plants. It’s not surprise that during this pandemic I’ve grown even more attached to these sista plants.
Aside from the connection to my grandmother, my greatest love. There are the biological and environmental benefits of having plants in the home.