Adequate Conditions?

Life right now

I have a plant in my house that I call Princess Marie. It’s a Maranta, and when I bought her, the label said Sleeping Princess.

I saw her in the garden centre, her two-toned patterned leaves caught my eye across the room, she was gorgeous. I barely read the label that would teach me how to care for her; I knew I wanted her no matter what.

My other houseplants have been bought online. I have used the Patch system of ordering a plant based on certain characteristics, rather than what they look like. I have many of the Unkillables, for example, due to my need for easy-to-care-for plants. I have neither the time nor the skill for anything complicated.

A few weeks into looking after her, however, it became clear that she needed a little more attention than the so-called Unkillables. Perhaps her name: Sleeping Princess had been a clue.

If I have any tips on houseplants, or any plants actually, it is this:
Do the research before you go to the garden centre. It is overwhelming. You will be distracted! Know what will and will not survive in the place that it will live.

And if you see something you like and it is beautiful - don’t be fooled! It is likely going to be hard work to keep it so.

High Maintenance

Princess Marie is a beautiful specimen but what I have learned in looking after her, is that in our house, with my less-than-green fingers, her beauty, that was once seen in the garden centre has not been maintained.

She is growing, that much is clear. I have repotted her actually, and her leaves, especially in the last few months, pop up regularly, paper like tubes that unravel and continue the chain of ovals down toward the ground.

Each new leaf unravels to reveal the original pattern I fell in love with. Perfect rich green ovals, with a lighter, neon shade highlighting the veins fanning out from the centre. But within weeks the leaves become blemished. Brown at the edges, crispy and well, dead looking, perfect ovals compromised. Eventually the leaf browns and shrivels completely and they are so unsightly, I am forced to snip them off.

It isn’t pretty, but according to Google, who, of course, is my go-to co-gardener, this is common if the plant is watered with hard water.

Hard water is water that has a high mineral content (in contrast with "soft water"). Hard water is formed when water percolates through deposits of limestone, chalk or gypsum,^[1] which are largely made up of calcium and magnesium carbonates, bicarbonates and sulfates.

Source: Wikipedia.

A princess, indeed. But knowing this hasn’t changed how I water the plant or what I water her with. In fact, my attitude is that if the tap water is good enough for the Unkillables, and it's good enough for my children, then it’s good enough for her. And anyway, she isn’t dying.

I think of her brown patches as her grumpy face, telling me she doesn’t like it here; a teenager’s stomped feet and slammed doors. To which, I respond like any good mother, and I tell her, tough luck: this is your home and you're very lucky to be here.

I had accepted that she was an unhappy plant until this week when I noticed something new.

Something lilac in fact, dotted amongst the green veins and brown crispy edges.

A flower?

I was so confused because of all the plants I have indoors, not one has flowered, well, aside from the orchid, (who actually is less of a diva). I don’t think I ever thought they would flower, didn’t know they could and I am completely gobsmacked that the plant that is flowering is grumpy Princess Marie.

The flower I saw was tiny, no bigger than a 5 pence piece with all its petals open and it lasted moments too. They were there one day, gone the next.

My co-gardener assured me this was normal and not some freak accident. I was not imagining things. In fact, flowering is a sign of a healthy plant, and Maranta plants are more likely to bloom when they are in adequate conditions - that their needs of sun, water and nutrients have been met.

Thank you, Princess Marie, it is wonderful to hear: you like it here.

I am enough.

And then I thought of the tree across the road that is very much not high maintenance and not a Princess.

Our estate is a meandering maze of alley ways and communal greens, but this tree is in a front garden across the green to the front of our house. I can’t see it from the kitchen window through taller trees and neighbour’s bushes, but I know it’s there.

I have passed it many times. I usually pass it on the way to nursery, when I am exhausted, at the end of the working day. I am tense as I brace myself to receive my over-tired and often, challenging, sons.

I noticed it years ago. At first I thought it had died and was waiting to be taken down properly. It appears as if it has no inner trunk and is standing up with a half-crescent of bark, its empty core exposed. Like many tress, in Winter, the branches were bare, but it wasn't dead, obviously. It is still there and every year since it has bloomed. Gorgeous pink petals appear and fall, giving way to a bright green foliage standing proud, despite its emptiness.

I see myself in this tree.

First, when I was breastfeeding my second son. I would walk past on the way to get the two of them on a Friday, my only day of peace in a chaotic week, filled with nights of frequent night wakings that lasted long into his second year despite the health visitor’s promises. It was a shell and so was I. Yet, as Spring came, I saw it in bloom and I thought: if she can do it, so can I.

Now I think back to those days with empathy and pride. I don’t know how I functioned from one day to the next back then, yet somehow we managed; somehow the kids thrived. They grew and they were happy. Conditions were adequate. We were enough; I was enough.

I haven’t consulted Google on this one, but it seems obvious to me that the conditions that this tree is living in are probably not ideal, but it is surviving. It has no core, no whatever is usually in the middle of the trunk, it can’t be what it is meant to be like, and yet it is alive and every Spring it blooms. In many ways it is performing its function perfectly. In many ways, you could say, it is successful - despite what it may seem.

Perhaps my co-gardener would say that conditions are adequate; its needs are being met. Its blooms clearly a sign that it is thriving; it is happy.

I think of my current environment as less than ideal. I am frustrated that I have been forced to reduce my youngest son’s childcare due to the uncertainty of rising costs of nursery, and a slow freelance market. I enjoy working three days but I would prefer to work five. I find it frustrating not being able to offer more to clients. I am worried that they will be put off by it, despite the fact that I have been lucky to have found a couple of clients who have not been phased by my three working days at all and one of which who has actually preferred it.

I feel frustrated that I haven’t got as much time any more. That two of my days have been given up to my son, who I am consciously present with, although, not always out of choice. I don’t write as much, I don’t journal and I certainly don’t exercise.

They aren’t ideal conditions, but they are adequate.

I am enjoying the flexibility of being able to work and look after the boys. It is exhausting, but with a foot in both worlds, I have what I wanted, even if the balance isn’t exactly how I imagined it.

I am still hopeful I can maintain some level of freelance work in the coming months, I know I will have time to write while it is quieter, I know I will find my journal again. In comparison to those early years, I know that things are easier - we are doing okay. I am doing okay and yeah I am going to say it; I am flowering.

How are you doing?
Which plant do you most relate to? Princess Marie or The gutted tree?

Come join me in the comments, I would love to hear your stories.

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