“She attended well and faithfully to a few worthy things”
In our second grade class we were given a bean sprout to take care of as part of a science project. I was so proud of how long it grew by the end of the year (Three whole inches)! And was incredibly proud. It’s beauty had come to a tragic end when I took it home at the end of the year. The bus went over a pothole, and one of my peers had stepped on it, leaving just a pile of mud. I tried my best to scoop it back up in the cup, to bring it home, to prop it back up and hope it sprung back, but unfortunately I had only brought back a pile of mud.
I was never great at caring for plants and am still not very good. I forget to water them or care too much, forget to keep them covered in frigid temperatures, forget to give them the appropriate amount of sunlight. Out of respect, I’ve made the executive decision to only try to grow and manage the hardiest of green-beings— who can take the horrible neglect I accidentally bestow upon them, and surround myself with fake flowers.
In the Fall semester of 2015 I had gotten an email from the assistant resident director at my college—in a school of 400 people, you get to know one another quickly— saying there was a plant dying in her office because it was too cold. She knew I liked plants and asked if I could take care of it. I had just left a job at a greenhouse, so I had a little more experience about the caring for plants, (even if it wasn’t as much as I wish I had gotten) and was happy to accept care for the tropical. The fall of 2015 was also the fall of my mental health state; I was slowly losing interest in art and life itself, having to take a hiatus on my academic career, and in turn was not the best plant mom. When it came into my possession and I cut away the dead or dying, it was down to one and a half leaves. I would come up to it and weep, apologizing and telling it I wasn’t what the plant deserved and that I wasn’t good enough for it. Over the course of 4 years I’d forget to water it, and when it did spring back to life, it’d get too cold or I’d over water it and the leaves would once again dwindle and whither away, and the plant would get sick again. There was a point where the plant itself was sitting in a window box on top of some dirt in my basement asking to be repotted for months, before I had mustered the energy to do so, but always hanging on with its one and a half leaves.
This past summer I had seven leaves on the plant. I’d never thought to give it any kind of plant food, and was always a second thought, being in my basement for a long while. This past summer I had finally brought it out into the warm sun, watering it when needed, and was extremely proud of myself. I had saved my pennies up and was able to reapply for school. I left many abusive relationships and surrounded myself with people who treasure my friendship and my health as much as I learned to treasure my own.
When I left home to return to school this past winter, bringing my plants with me, it was cold. Temperatures were frigid; The heat from the car’s engine wasn’t enough to keep us warm high in the mountains. Most of my plants died because the roots had gotten so cold and the water froze, except for my tropical, now placed on my shelf with one and a half leaves.
This plant has never given up on me. It’s seen me through my worst, and I look at this plant at awe as it keeps its secrets of immortality. The fear of dying is one of the most human experiences you can have. Many of us are afraid of not being able to leave behind a legacy, or just something for others to keep their memory alive. My passion for this plant rekindled my passion for my visual art and life itself, even through abuse and neglect of everyday still presses on. My artwork means everything to me, and I try to incorporate those one and a half leaves as much as I can in my imagery, if not literally than metaphorically. I try to work and persevere for those leaves, by building myself into the plant I wish for it, and myself to grow into. I wish to curate, and to explore more about the physical forms of how art itself breathes like the earth itself. I want to share my knowledge, my stories, to help others water and care for their mental plants.
Looking backward, I know I have made some definitive impacts in my friend’s and student’s everyday lives. They come up and thank me for my tutoring, for me lending my ear. I have a friend who works for Way-fair in their 3D modeling and animation department, who credits me as being the first person to believe in and critique his drawings. I have others who’ve had thesis and show exhibitions, who thank me for my advice and encouragement over the years. I have a strong belief that human immortality can be achieved through education: Teaching people and helping them grow, to pass it on to the next hand— and creation: Leaving a physical stroke, sound, or word, that has people think of you and remember you. The last person who speaks of you, who remembers your name, is the end of your legacy.
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