(image from AT; where else?)When I moved to North Carolina almost 8 years ago (!), I had to leave behind a passel of plants Steph and I had cultivated in our Wellington II apartment. I wanted to bring them all, but settled on two ivies that I had gotten as cuttings from Grandma T, the greenest of the green thumbs. There was a teeny heart ivy, which was precious and grew like one inch a decade, and the one pictured above - Grandma T called it oak ivy, though that might not be its real name. I saw that photo on AT today and it took my breath away for a minute.
I'm sad to say that though the oak ivy made the cross-country four-day drive swimmingly in my '96 Honda Accord, it didn't survive the significant lack of light of my second apartment in Chapel Hill. I loved the place, despite that it was hot as blazes and had exactly one ooooold Sears air conditioner, oddly-placed much too far away from the bedroom. And the bedroom ceiling fan had a squeak, so I slept in a super inferno. (And my neighbors were self-described vampires, like, blood around the neck and a black Mazda Miata with a VAMPYRE vanity plate. One night they said, "Did you hear anything last night?" And they grinned a little creepy. I said no. Um, thank goodness.)
But all my plants died there, which was devastating. My official policy now is to not get attached to plants, and make sure to only purchase them at Ikea or Lowe's, so as to not imbue them with any sentimental value. So that photo made me feel sad and miss Grandma T for a few minutes. Her plants thrived, even the ones in the basement. My plants, then and now, just . . . live. And not always that. They don't tend to actually grow leaves, and I am known for inciting root rot. I wish Gram T. could send some posthumous plant care my direction. Heaven knows I could use it.
* William Carlos Williams, "Dedication for a Plot of Ground"
9 comments:
uh oh. hopefully my 100+ year old clover has better luck than your ivy... so far so good :)
Sometimes people are so good at something that it's hard to imagine they were ever less than perfect. That seems to particularly be the case when it comes to memories of the grandparents, but you just gotta remember that "Grandma T" started somewhere, too.
there are some delicious tomatoes growing outside of wellington II. did you plant those too? if so, it makes me feel a little less bad about eating a few :)
so for so good for you, germil.
donnie - true, but i have been trying my hand at this plant thing for awhile and . . . it's not great.
dogey - sorry, dude. we didn't plant those. you are busted!
ugh, i mean so FAR so good
your blog is way better than mine! ha.
Oh Lis- the heart ivy. Didn't we try to propogate about 20 cuttings from Grandma's plant? I didn't know you'd managed to keep one alive (at least for a while). I too, have to be reminded that things are not the same as people, and to try to keep over-sentimentalism at bay. IE: right now I am struggling with the ivy, and wondering if I could get a cutting from Soonie. Didn't Grandma swipe the original cutting from somewhere like the temple grounds? She was an amazing green thumb. Although, if it makes you feel better, even she couldn't keep the bonsai tree I gave her alive. She misted it daily and everything, but no cigar.
Love,T
Hi T! I remember that bonsai - didn't she keep it awhile dead because she couldn't stand that it died?
And you're right about the cutting from the temple - was it St. George?
I really miss her.
I have no green thumb, which is why all my plants are metal.
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