I’ve never claimed to be any great shakes at gardening, preferring to leave that to my partner who definitely has green thumbs. And fingers. Inside it’s a different matter and that’s my domain. The house is filled with plants with several grown from cuttings taken from their parent. Other than ensuring they’re watered once a week – twice in summer for the ones that look like they need it – and have a feed during the warmer months, the plants all survive (and thrive) on healthy neglect.
And boy do they thrive! True, some of those cuttings currently growing up are destined as prizes in a forthcoming fundraiser for the Greens, while others were recently donated to a local market that was also a fundraising event, but still no room in the house is without a plant or ten. Several need a good haircut at the moment but I’m reluctant to do this until they’ve stopped flowering, and with the summer we’ve had, followed by the exceptionally mild autumn we’re still enjoying, the little darlings continue to throw out blooms. I haven’t the heart to trim them just yet. These plants certainly have gone bonkers though – and cuttings are destined for several friends who’ve put up their hands to receive them when ready.
Having just spent the best part of an hour watering my houseplants, and doing the minimal maintenance they only ever receive, I can honestly say I wouldn’t be without them. A house without plants is like a house without books: rather empty and sterile in my opinion. There were always plants in the house where I grew up so I suppose I’ve inherited the idea from my mum that it’s normal to have them inside. It's often been said a house that has plants is a healthy house. They provide a calming effect on mood. If that’s correct then our house must be bursting with an abundance of good health as well as emotional balance, and that cannot be bad in these increasingly uncertain and fractious times all around the planet.
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