Through the eyes of a green plant

    Believe it or not, plants have stories, too, and this jade would like to tell one:

    I was a tiny twig of a thing, perched on the near-death, reduced-for-quick-sale rack at Lowe's, thinking I was doomed, when a tender-hearted foliage fanatic named Mary bought me for fifty cents, even though she did not need another plant.

    Mary took me home and set me on the kitchen table, where, after a while and to her dismay, she discovered mealybugs on my stems and leaves, and she threatened to throw me out, but her tender-heartedness would not allow it. Instead, she sprayed me with smelly stuff, dabbed me with alcohol, and put me in detention in the garage, so I could not socialize with the sassy scheffleras and towering money trees that had earned prime spots in the kitchen.

    I stayed in the garage for months, if not years, because mealybugs are relentless. Throughout the ordeal, Mary never tossed me out, but one day, when she almost gave up on me, she ousted me from the premises altogether. She set me on a stump at the edge of the woods, where rain drenched me, thunder rattled me, and spiders spun their webs around me. But nothing could break me. Every time Mary came to check on my well-being, she marveled at my ability to withstand winds, monsoons, and droughts. 

    Over time and despite the mealybugs, I grew new foliage and started branching out. One summer, Mary moved me from the stump by the woods to the shade of the front porch. From that point on, she alternated my winters in the garage with summers on the porch. Being dabbed with alcohol and sprayed with smelly stuff became my way of life. 

    Much time has passed since Mary decided to take a chance on me. The mealybugs are a thing of the past. I persevered through the infestation, the solitude, and the elements, and I so impressed Mary, that she recently brought me back inside the house. Not only that, she took a cutting from me to grow a whole new plant. If someone asked her, Mary would probably say that I am the most magnificent of all her plants, and forgive my immodesty, but I might also be the prettiest. 

    Every couple of weeks when she sprinkles me with water, she reveres my resiliency. When she goes shopping, she looks for a new planter for me to live in, but she hasn't yet found the perfect one. Life is good; I am a survivor. Sometimes I sense that Mary would like to be as tough and rugged as I am, but I don't know if she ever will. On second thought, maybe she will, as long as she is willing to take chances.

🌱🌳🌿🌱🌳