A while back I wrote a post on my garden. My outer and my inner one. It had taken me years, decades actually, to realize that the state of my plants reflected my own emotional state. If my plants were in good shape, so was I. If they were miserable, so was I. It all came down to taking care of them and of myself. And I usually did both or neither. So I started using my outer garden as my personal alarm unit for my inner garden – and recently checked on it.
I never had a green thumb. In fact, I never had a garden. Just houseplants. And few of them, for that matter. The maximum number of plants I ever managed to keep alive for more than a face-saving period of time, until recently, was five: a banana tree, a schefflera, a basil plant, a ficus and an orange tree, god bless them. Until last year that was.