Now I worry about the rosemary bush on my front porch that I vigorously brush through with my hands when I come back from walking my dog. Does it see me coming? Does it scream in terror at being assaulted or squeal with joy at seeing me, knowing I’ll give it attention? Is the scent given in gratitude or released in defense? Does it have a name? Is it insulted I don’t know it or never asked? It is ok that I call the plant an “it?” I feel like a colonizer doing that. I have so many questions I hadn’t had before reading this. And nobody to ask.
I love plants, trees, nature, being surrounded by green but I do not have a green thumb.
My father-in-law generously gave me a pointsetta every December for over 30 years and by March of every year they were dead.
In December 2020, at age 90, he had just returned home from a spell in rehab. This time, I gave him a pointsetta to bring color to his difficult days. His live-in caregiver took care of the plant for 11 months, until he passed, peacefully after telling us he was ready to go.
I took his plant home. About one month later, only a few days after the holiday season, new red leaves bloomed. My father-in-law was letting me know all is well.
It is Fall once more and the plant, miraculously in my care, is doing beautifully.
I patiently wait for the bloom of red in a month or more and his reminder, all will be well.
Hello Aloe...you started out life, as a cutting, a baby and I brought you into my Pre-K classroom where you were surrounded by the laughter, the innocence, the growth of my caring community of learners. Every summer, I would take you home, the last item I would remove after packing up my classroom for the year. I would place you outside, first in the shade to acclimate and then in the sun to flourish. By summer's end each year, you had grown new babies, turned the deepest green and rewarded me and my new group of students with your lushness under the glare of the classroom fluorescent lights. But then, came the gloaming...the moment when my daughter was so ill, I had to retire early. And I have neglected you since...I have you on my window sill, but I look at you and see the deep sadness, the overwhelming hole that leaving my little students six years ago now, left. I water you, when I remember, and you haven't been outside in six summers. I'm so sorry. I'm so deeply sorry. I took my sadness out on you, while all the while claiming to be such a caring, kind human. Today, I will attend to you, stroke your dense leaves, water you deeply, and when Spring comes, separate the parts that need more room of their own. And when Summer comes, I will bring you outside, first in the shade to acclimate, and then to the sun to flourish. As I write this, I realize I have neglected myself this past five going on 6 years....and I vow to treat us with what we both used to thrive on-the laughter of children, attention, admiration, change of venue, renewal and hope. Thank you, Aloe.
Suleika, I love the story of your father meandering Brooklyn, making friends, bringing joy to shopkeepers who reciprocated with bottles of cold water. Good man.
A dear friend sent me a magnificent orchid for my birthday which is now an elegant stick. I’ve been gifted several exotics over the years with the same results. Fruit trees are my friends. The deeply rooted. The grown in deep ground. Two ancient apple tress, a persimmon, and a Meyer Lemon grow outside my windows. I water and feed, and yes, I talk to them. Hummingbirds hover around my head as I tend to the apple trees, as did to say thank you for their sweet blossoms.
I love this post about your family building community.
You must never think you are not giving back. Each and every story you share is a gift to all of us. Just look at this community you have built! I look forward to Friday and Sundays because of your posts as I am sure most of us do. 🥰
Thank you so much for all you do despite your health struggles. One of the most giving people I have ever known.
When I was a young girl I would constantly have plants due on me. I finally realized I was so burdened taking care of me that I didn’t want to take care of plants. When I viewed this prompt at 5am I realized these past 20 years my plants thrive because they know I love them! This summer my neighbor, who I love with all my heart, ask d me to take care of his 4 plants for 3 months. From day one until he picked them up, my plants, his plants just grooved. Everyone thrived, my plants, his plants, we were a welcoming plant community. After my friend took his plants back home, my plants and I became very sad. Their growth slowed down, and one plant needs extra special care. I surprised myself at how attached I got to our visitors and how sad I felt after they left. It was a lesson to me of “ no expectations when the plants came to visit, and it became a magical experience of thriving, and yes, when they left I had to let go with love.” Today I went to my drumming circle and we braided sweet grass to dry and burn as incense in my home, and the leader of the drumming circle gave me some roots of sweet grass to plant. Sweet grass has many spiritual lessons for me, and unexpectedly a new and welcome visitor in my home. One of the messages I’ve already received from sweet grass is about an old trauma of being called “a dirty Hew” my first day of school at 7. I’ve worked on this trauma for years, thought I had let it go but recently it resurfaced and sweet grass, when I asked about it said “Sherri let it go. You’ve become such a gorgeous, empathetic and compassionate person because of it. You’re okay!”
This prompt made me a little weepy as I love my plants and interact with them constantly, both indoors and outdoors. I feel so sad and responsible when they leave this earthly plane. Thank you so much for sharing Kristen's wonderful film with us! I hope I can find a way to see it.
Suleika, I love your family. When I read your book I envied you your family. I would have loved to have grown up speaking different languages and celebrating beautiful cultures. You are so blessed with your beautiful family.
I do not have a green thumb. I have one plant. It’s a Christmas or Easter cactus. My mom (who has passed) gave it to me years ago. It sits over my sink. When it blooms I feel like my Mom is near. All I do is add water. Maybe it needs a name. My mother’s name was Doris. I don’t know if that name would suit it. I’ll think of something. Maybe Elizabeth. I’ll have to think on it.
What it thinks. Oh boy! There she goes taking the dogs out again. Feels like it’s close to feed the dog time. Oh look! A spider making a nest outside my window. Itsy Bitsy spider! There goes the fox! I hear the neighbors rooster. The days are getting shorter! Sunset already. The trees look beautiful in their autumn finery. Wonder what I’ll be for Halloween. I know! A thirsty cactus!
That said I always do wonder the stories the trees would tell. They have been around a long time. Will they remember my story. Do they live so long that the histories all meld together. They would see so much joy and som much tragedy. I love the trees. They give us air, shade. They house wildlife. They house humans too by providing wood. I would love to have a treehouse. What would we be without trees.
Oct 16, 2022·edited Oct 16, 2022Liked by Suleika Jaouad
See on YouTube: "Artist Invents Device That Can Listen to Plant Music," Brut India, 9-30-21. He puts sound to plant turgidity. There are various videos of such music that you can try for sleep inducement.
This is exactly what I needed. From the community, to making friends, to houseplants. This is gorgeous. I had a new friend over for dinner last night and she gave me a gift, actually several. She gave me feedback that helped me understand how my stress is impacting others. Said things that were hard to hear that I needed to hear. I can choose to focus on my gifts but lately I can let the fear in others create fear in me. Thank you for building this community Suleika and everyone. It has been a constant in some seriously difficult times. Brilliant, honest and loving - thank you all. Now to ask my plant in my office what it needs, or me;)
I talk to my plants indoors and out, because I love them. Sometimes and oftentimes some are here for a season-like friends. When I moved, I gave away some plants, but I never stopped loving them. I was afraid my new place did not have enough light-but I found the way. Once I lived in a dark studio and I bought plant lights- I don't know a tremendous amount about my plants-other than I love them.
love this Suleika. May you feel better soon. I recently had my community show up for me. How good it made me feel and how fortunate I am to have them in my orbit. I learned through it all that I need to be better, I need to show up for others, not to pay them back but to give them the feeling of love, support and concern that they gave to me... Take good care! Sending really big, warm HUGS to you!
I loved this so much. I just brought my three geraniums and two rosemary plants in from the Illinois cold. They’re in my kitchen, and the geraniums are rangy, confused, in pots that are a bit too small, leaning toward the fall sunlight. The rosemary are okay so far, thankful for their thick needles but skeptical, surely, of my ability to keep them alive all winter. I read a marvelous book, “What Plants Know,” that reminded me of this essay. Plants are amazingly adaptive and resilient. We all lean toward survival. I love thinking about what they might be saying to each other. Sending gratitude, Suleika, for all you share!
Now I worry about the rosemary bush on my front porch that I vigorously brush through with my hands when I come back from walking my dog. Does it see me coming? Does it scream in terror at being assaulted or squeal with joy at seeing me, knowing I’ll give it attention? Is the scent given in gratitude or released in defense? Does it have a name? Is it insulted I don’t know it or never asked? It is ok that I call the plant an “it?” I feel like a colonizer doing that. I have so many questions I hadn’t had before reading this. And nobody to ask.
I love plants, trees, nature, being surrounded by green but I do not have a green thumb.
My father-in-law generously gave me a pointsetta every December for over 30 years and by March of every year they were dead.
In December 2020, at age 90, he had just returned home from a spell in rehab. This time, I gave him a pointsetta to bring color to his difficult days. His live-in caregiver took care of the plant for 11 months, until he passed, peacefully after telling us he was ready to go.
I took his plant home. About one month later, only a few days after the holiday season, new red leaves bloomed. My father-in-law was letting me know all is well.
It is Fall once more and the plant, miraculously in my care, is doing beautifully.
I patiently wait for the bloom of red in a month or more and his reminder, all will be well.
Hello Aloe...you started out life, as a cutting, a baby and I brought you into my Pre-K classroom where you were surrounded by the laughter, the innocence, the growth of my caring community of learners. Every summer, I would take you home, the last item I would remove after packing up my classroom for the year. I would place you outside, first in the shade to acclimate and then in the sun to flourish. By summer's end each year, you had grown new babies, turned the deepest green and rewarded me and my new group of students with your lushness under the glare of the classroom fluorescent lights. But then, came the gloaming...the moment when my daughter was so ill, I had to retire early. And I have neglected you since...I have you on my window sill, but I look at you and see the deep sadness, the overwhelming hole that leaving my little students six years ago now, left. I water you, when I remember, and you haven't been outside in six summers. I'm so sorry. I'm so deeply sorry. I took my sadness out on you, while all the while claiming to be such a caring, kind human. Today, I will attend to you, stroke your dense leaves, water you deeply, and when Spring comes, separate the parts that need more room of their own. And when Summer comes, I will bring you outside, first in the shade to acclimate, and then to the sun to flourish. As I write this, I realize I have neglected myself this past five going on 6 years....and I vow to treat us with what we both used to thrive on-the laughter of children, attention, admiration, change of venue, renewal and hope. Thank you, Aloe.
Suleika, I love the story of your father meandering Brooklyn, making friends, bringing joy to shopkeepers who reciprocated with bottles of cold water. Good man.
A dear friend sent me a magnificent orchid for my birthday which is now an elegant stick. I’ve been gifted several exotics over the years with the same results. Fruit trees are my friends. The deeply rooted. The grown in deep ground. Two ancient apple tress, a persimmon, and a Meyer Lemon grow outside my windows. I water and feed, and yes, I talk to them. Hummingbirds hover around my head as I tend to the apple trees, as did to say thank you for their sweet blossoms.
Dear Suleika,
I love this post about your family building community.
You must never think you are not giving back. Each and every story you share is a gift to all of us. Just look at this community you have built! I look forward to Friday and Sundays because of your posts as I am sure most of us do. 🥰
Thank you so much for all you do despite your health struggles. One of the most giving people I have ever known.
When I was a young girl I would constantly have plants due on me. I finally realized I was so burdened taking care of me that I didn’t want to take care of plants. When I viewed this prompt at 5am I realized these past 20 years my plants thrive because they know I love them! This summer my neighbor, who I love with all my heart, ask d me to take care of his 4 plants for 3 months. From day one until he picked them up, my plants, his plants just grooved. Everyone thrived, my plants, his plants, we were a welcoming plant community. After my friend took his plants back home, my plants and I became very sad. Their growth slowed down, and one plant needs extra special care. I surprised myself at how attached I got to our visitors and how sad I felt after they left. It was a lesson to me of “ no expectations when the plants came to visit, and it became a magical experience of thriving, and yes, when they left I had to let go with love.” Today I went to my drumming circle and we braided sweet grass to dry and burn as incense in my home, and the leader of the drumming circle gave me some roots of sweet grass to plant. Sweet grass has many spiritual lessons for me, and unexpectedly a new and welcome visitor in my home. One of the messages I’ve already received from sweet grass is about an old trauma of being called “a dirty Hew” my first day of school at 7. I’ve worked on this trauma for years, thought I had let it go but recently it resurfaced and sweet grass, when I asked about it said “Sherri let it go. You’ve become such a gorgeous, empathetic and compassionate person because of it. You’re okay!”
This prompt made me a little weepy as I love my plants and interact with them constantly, both indoors and outdoors. I feel so sad and responsible when they leave this earthly plane. Thank you so much for sharing Kristen's wonderful film with us! I hope I can find a way to see it.
Suleika, I love your family. When I read your book I envied you your family. I would have loved to have grown up speaking different languages and celebrating beautiful cultures. You are so blessed with your beautiful family.
I do not have a green thumb. I have one plant. It’s a Christmas or Easter cactus. My mom (who has passed) gave it to me years ago. It sits over my sink. When it blooms I feel like my Mom is near. All I do is add water. Maybe it needs a name. My mother’s name was Doris. I don’t know if that name would suit it. I’ll think of something. Maybe Elizabeth. I’ll have to think on it.
What it thinks. Oh boy! There she goes taking the dogs out again. Feels like it’s close to feed the dog time. Oh look! A spider making a nest outside my window. Itsy Bitsy spider! There goes the fox! I hear the neighbors rooster. The days are getting shorter! Sunset already. The trees look beautiful in their autumn finery. Wonder what I’ll be for Halloween. I know! A thirsty cactus!
That said I always do wonder the stories the trees would tell. They have been around a long time. Will they remember my story. Do they live so long that the histories all meld together. They would see so much joy and som much tragedy. I love the trees. They give us air, shade. They house wildlife. They house humans too by providing wood. I would love to have a treehouse. What would we be without trees.
See on YouTube: "Artist Invents Device That Can Listen to Plant Music," Brut India, 9-30-21. He puts sound to plant turgidity. There are various videos of such music that you can try for sleep inducement.
This is exactly what I needed. From the community, to making friends, to houseplants. This is gorgeous. I had a new friend over for dinner last night and she gave me a gift, actually several. She gave me feedback that helped me understand how my stress is impacting others. Said things that were hard to hear that I needed to hear. I can choose to focus on my gifts but lately I can let the fear in others create fear in me. Thank you for building this community Suleika and everyone. It has been a constant in some seriously difficult times. Brilliant, honest and loving - thank you all. Now to ask my plant in my office what it needs, or me;)
I talk to my plants indoors and out, because I love them. Sometimes and oftentimes some are here for a season-like friends. When I moved, I gave away some plants, but I never stopped loving them. I was afraid my new place did not have enough light-but I found the way. Once I lived in a dark studio and I bought plant lights- I don't know a tremendous amount about my plants-other than I love them.
Oh sweetheart, how your words have impacted me today
I am currently with my dog Joe on vacation in Montreal visiting an old and special friend
Before leaving I had to call 911 for a dear friend and neighbour at home
Her family have been keeping me updating daily on her worsening condition and today she will be taken off life supports
I am devastated and shocked
But Mary so strongly believed in community....and that it takes a village
Your words today resonated with me and soothed my broken heart
Thank you once again dear Sulieka ❤
I watered my cactus today...
love this Suleika. May you feel better soon. I recently had my community show up for me. How good it made me feel and how fortunate I am to have them in my orbit. I learned through it all that I need to be better, I need to show up for others, not to pay them back but to give them the feeling of love, support and concern that they gave to me... Take good care! Sending really big, warm HUGS to you!
I loved this so much. I just brought my three geraniums and two rosemary plants in from the Illinois cold. They’re in my kitchen, and the geraniums are rangy, confused, in pots that are a bit too small, leaning toward the fall sunlight. The rosemary are okay so far, thankful for their thick needles but skeptical, surely, of my ability to keep them alive all winter. I read a marvelous book, “What Plants Know,” that reminded me of this essay. Plants are amazingly adaptive and resilient. We all lean toward survival. I love thinking about what they might be saying to each other. Sending gratitude, Suleika, for all you share!