When a neighbor told me she is going away for a couple of weeks and asked whether I would be able to water her plants, I didn’t blink. Sure! It’s just down the hall from me and what’s the big deal to walk over once a week with a water pitcher and water a few plants?
A few days later, I received a text about caring for her snakes. Whoa, pet snakes. I agreed to water a few plants! That’s how I learned about the ubiquitous snake plant trend everyone seems to know about that apparently made clear I had been living under a rock because I had no clue.
The night before my neighbor’s departure, there was a knock at my door. When I opened it, there she stood under the lintel, surrounded.
By many plants.
By actual mini leafy trees.
A stainless steel bowl. And an empty Costco-sized vinegar bottle.
Thus began my crash course in caring for her plants. Five hours later and I was falling asleep surrounded by what felt like new roommates. The plants were staring at me!
I learned it’s not about when the plant surface is dry, it’s when you push your fingers down a solid two inches and it’s not damp — that’s when you water. You don’t water from the top, you fill the stainless steel bowl with water and the plant can bathe in it until it drinks as much water as it needs. So on and so forth.
The truth is, I grew up in a plant house, and I myself have nurtured plants in the past. But it’s been awhile.
What I thought was a little neighborly gesture on my end suddenly felt daunting. What if I mess it up and she returns and her array of beautifully tended green plants are dried up and gone?
A gorgeous statement Fiddle Fig, a full and leafy Chinese Evergreen, a delicate light green and cream Caladium, multiple cascading Pothos marble-queen variety, those Snakes — tall sleekly modern looking pointy vertical bouquets of hard green sword-like shapes staggered at different heights — and the most striking one of all, growing only five bold and enormous leaves, aptly named Elephant Ears. To be sure, there were more, but these are the immediate ones that come to mind. There were also two plants that were revival projects; she had slit the stems at various points to see if new leaves would grow. Overnight, my apartment was transformed into a nursery.
This was a far cry from my own plant tending. While living in Israel, I was lucky enough to dwell in an apartment with a sunroof, perfect for abundant plant-nourishing sunshine. I was also lucky enough to live in a complex that boasted a few open aired courtyards which held a variety of trees, including a lemon tree and a limquat tree. It was a garden level apartment, so for a couple of years I planted an actual little garden to the left of my front door. On the other side I hung flower boxes with different colored flowers cascading, or standing upright.
It was my little corner of Jerusalem heaven. One year, I had found the most stunning Jasmine plant at a moving sale at a lovely apartment in the Jerusalem neighborhood of Abu Tor. It was so beautiful and delicate and intensely fragrant! The Jasmine perfume hit you with its heady scent the moment you entered the apartment, The incredible length of this fair delicate beauty of green and white wove its way like a long wrapping necklace along my book cases and etagere holding my objects d’Art — all the way to the kitchen!
But these plants were mine, so I felt no performance pressure or heightened responsibility. I took pleasure in caring for my plants and the beauty and growth they provided, but other than that gift of a Jasmine plant, I was pretty laid back about the plants’ progress. I obviously did not take them as seriously as my neighbor, who clearly had tremendous plant knowledge and very particular ways of caring for each and every one of her plants.
I wrote notes and asked my neighbor to write up notes. I was determined to get this right. I also initially thought it would be along the lines of a 10-day gig, when in reality it was quite a bit longer.
A flash of a memory of when I was a little girl popped into mind. My family had moved from Israel to America for a year-and-a-half. My mother had left her beloved plants — creamy striped green spider plants and lacey leaved ferns — with a friend. Upon our return to Israel, the friend’s home was one of the first stops we made. Lo, they were all in fabulous condition, growing just beautifully. The only problem? My mother’s friend who was the temporary guardian fell in love with the plants and became especially attached to one in particular! I believe my mother left that plant behind for her to keep.
It had been a while since I tended plants, probably a good four or five years. I had a no-attention-needed plant here and there, the kind almost impossible to kill, such as bamboo or succulents, more like dessert plants that barely need any water.
Yet, here I am finding myself again constantly giving a quick glance to the window sill, to see whether the pothos look a bit droopy, a bit thirsty. Constantly digging my hands into the soil of the larger, tree-like plants to evaluate their dampness. And pruning away the leaves that seem to have reached their leaf life span, dried up.
Just one week into it, and I noticed a pop of lime emerging from one of the long elegant pale green splits in the elephant ear plant. There was no doubt about it, a new elephant leaf was on the way! The patina of these leaves is so glossy, they almost don’t look real. Within a few days there it was, a long rolled tuille-like or cigar-like lime colored leaf curling around itself. I unfurled it carefully and it bounced right back to its closed cigar-like shape.
By the next day it was no longer closed and curled but stretched open and huge, albeit smaller than its older siblings, indeed an elephant shaped ear of a lime colored leaf, brighter than the rest of the bunch.
So the plants were thriving in my southern exposure apartment! No doubt because of my brand of tender loving plant care, of course! (Full disclosure: there were a few times I got lazy and placed the plants in a bathtub so the shower could rain on them, watering them all in one shot). I was delighted. Photosynthesis was doing its job, and I was part of the process in witnessing it.
The apartment looks fabulous; the plants have added so much. The different shapes, colored and textured leaves, the varying heights of dark green to emeralds and limes. Seeing the light at different points in the day play on the green leaves, watching the incremental new growth emerge, paying close attention to these living organisms — this is its own kind of reward and satisfaction.
Perhaps my recent days of only plants that need zero attention are over. I already picked up a charming strawberry plant with the tiniest most adorable strawberries already growing and a pepper plant with peeking peppers already growing too.
The plants move out this week. The apartment will feel so bare. A vase of fresh flowers will no longer be enough for me now. I’m already eyeing the heart shaped Monstera Deliciosa plant, ready to keep watering more plants.
It turns out that the night when I opened the door to my neighbor surrounded by plants and immediately understood just what I had not signed on for, perhaps it was she who had opened the door for me, reigniting and reviving my plant tending days — just as in life, pruning away what no longer serves and tending to new growth.
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