"Create a life you no longer need a vacation from", they say. So I'm trying. I want a life in the jungle, surrounded by flora and fauna, by mysterious sounds, and strange fragrances. And since that's far from being a reality right now, I'm creating it inside my home , and out, as best as I can.
Living in the Dallas suburbs is hardly a life I can call “surrounded” by natural beauty. But when I visit the local nurseries, I pretend that I’m in some exotic land where geraniums grow next to ficus trees, and venus fly traps exist freely next to prickly, blooming cacti. It’s like a piece of nature fiction crammed into a massive greenhouse.
Meticulously planning space and cost, I go there with a resolve to only get a few plants. But when I see the tiny violas, and the hybrid bougainvillea, and the fragrant azaleas, my resolve evaporates like dew on a blade of grass.
Spring is a time of abundance. The outdoors bring a rush of gardening possibilities, however winter is when my indoor plants become a John Muir saving grace of “keeping nature close…”
It’s not something I’ve consciously done. It’s been instinctual, maybe even hereditary, since we’re all plant lovers in our family, starting with our parents. I’ve realized indoor plants become a steady source of solace and well being, especially since I no longer live where I grew up– in a tropical climate– where plants grow and bloom all year round.
Fiddle Fig
My biggest joy (double entendre here) is my Fiddle fig. I’ve loved growing this West African bad boy who once reached almost 12 feet, and I had to prune him to keep him grounded. He gets his name from his leaves that are broad at their apex, but narrow down in the middle, resembling a fiddle.
Heart-shaped Philodendron
My heartleaf philodendron is the other major player in lending a wilderness feel to the room. He grows all over, this native Caribbean, spreading his chlorophyllic presence like the understory of a rainforest, only now on my mantle and windows. I remember starting him years ago from a single small cutting from somewhere. This philo is incredibly versatile, and easy to grow. Just take a cutting and put it in a bottle of water till it roots, and transplant it in a pot of soil. And ta-da- you have a house-crawler!
Purple Shamrock
Under the philo, sits my Purple Shamrock, with her wine purple leaves and tiny mauve flowers. I picked her from under my oak tree two springs ago, when she had sprouted like a little orphan from someone else’s garden. She’s made it in her adopted home, and seems to love it, living through the coldest of windowsill winters and shaking her tresses into full bloom as the weather warms.
Baby Jade
The little Baby Jade has her moods, hating me when I over water her, and sulking yellow. She’s a mountain child after all from South Africa. I’m loving how she spills over as she grows, and tolerates my unintentional excesses.
Orchids
My orchids were both gifts, and I treasure them so. One was actually a gift from someone I grew apart from, but the good times remain with the sunny blooms that spring up like clockwork every March, regardless of how little attention they get.
You’d think these beauties are bound to warm climates, but some species are found as north as Patagonia. It’s remarkable how these tiny, epiphytic delicate beauties can thrive on so little, and bring so much joy to the whole world.
Peace Lily
My Peace Lily, another tropical beauty, sits stoically by the back door. She puts out her little white flags in the spring, as if to make peace with the passing winter that browned her leaves so badly.
Snake Plant
Across from her, is my giant Snake Plant. He became a roaring anaconda when I replaced his soil. His medium pot looks like tight shorts that he’s definitely outgrown. He grows unfettered however, oblivious to anyone’s chagrin. I love him for that.
Guiana Chestnut
In my little temple yard, grows the Chestnut tree. Since my Bodhi (fig/ficus) tree is not counter-size, she subs for him, and shades my Buddha. She’s also a Central and South American native, popularized as a houseplant in Taiwan in the 80s. That’s where the association with Feng Shui, good luck, positive chi, and money comes in.
She’s lost her thick entwined roots however, and contrary to her reputation, stands tall on one skinny trunk symbolizing the need for little to survive, like a classic Buddhist minimalist.
Dragon Tree
On the small landing upstairs, lives a little dragon. I never understood why this bushy beauty that resembles a Truffula tree, is called a dragon tree. Perhaps for it’s stringy leaves that look like a mane. She has grown slowly, and survived the neglect that often occurs with plants being out of sight. She lives up to her name by surviving on all continents except Antarctica. It’s hard to believe she belongs in the same family as asparagus. This dragon however is far from edible.
My home would be pretty dull without my green friends. I love my family and dogs to pieces, and while they bring warmth and joy to me everyday, my plants bring me an acute awareness of the delicate balance of life, an eternal feeling of gratitude for how everything is because of their existence, and a quiet calm with their green stillness .
Watering, pruning, fertilizing and changing the soil brings me a sense of satisfaction. A feeling of rootedness in nurturing living things that steadfastly clean my air and mind of modern jadedness.
In the words of John Muir, "The clearest way through the Universe is through the forest." And to that, I raise my watering can! And if your yearnings are like mine, I urge you to raise yours too!
