Herbert
Recently, I looked out of the train window and noticed something odd.
An office building, nine or ten floors high. Through almost every window I could see plants.
How strange that we build artificial structures to keep nature out, only to fill them with a tamer version of it.
A few years ago I moved into a flatshare after having lived in a flat alone that always felt like a temporary accommodation. I felt like it was time to up my game of "being an adult" and bought a plant. My thinking went something like this: if I cannot keep a simple plant alive - how will I ever even want to consider a dog or even children?
Louis, a Clusia rosea plant, characterized by my mother as "Männerpflanze" (plant for men), was my very first plant. I wish I could write that Louis is still with us, but after spending his vacation with my mother and receiving a new pot, he never fully recovered, so I had to put him down. Well... throw the plant out. It was actually quite emotional, because I felt like I had failed. Failed in the most simple task of keeping a plant alive.
I had to remind myself that it was a plant, that there was no need to get overly dramatic about it. It did however coincide with a certain chapter of my life and another move to a flat on my own again. New flat, new opportunity, new plant. This time the stakes would be higher as the high ceiling called for a big plant. Herbert, my Ficus Elastica 'Tineke' has put up with me ever since. Though we're still not fully in sync. He keeps growing new baby leaves, which is reassuring, but most of the big ones turn brown and he loses them. I've placed him in the middle of the apartment, because I read he doesn't like sunlight (he got this at first), then I read he doesn't like drafts - so I try to air my flat in a different way. All resulting in a good friend's mom telling me Herbert looks terrible, that I need to cut off the three branches, toss the initial plant and then grow the cuttings.
Have I failed yet again?
The cuttings are no longer the original Herbert. Will they survive? I've been procrastinating on this project since March. And I should have done it in spring. Should I do it now?
It's less about the plant, and more about the emotions and expectations towards myself that I've tied to it. In case you're wondering - Herbert has friends. They are Coco (Anthurium andraeanum), Pippa and Gerda (Phalaenopsis spp.), Franz (a bonsai), Mathilde (a succulent), Olivier and Oliviera (Olea europaea)—go figure. Olivier was my first attempt at having a plant outside and ensuring it survives the winter. When he made it through his first winter he received a friend - Oliviera. Wouldn't want him to be lonely on my balcony and so far they've made it three and two winters respectively.
I've noticed I'm not the only one to name their plants. While it's not super common, it's not super weird either - and I like to ask friends if their plants have names, when I'm invited for dinner. One friend of mine started dating a guy, who had actually put a lot of thought into the names of his plants. They were all related to the heritage or type of plant. Like Zhang Wei - the most common Chinese name for a Chinese plant. I told her he's a keeper. She's moved in with him in the meantime.
Is it silly to name your plants? Absolutely. Is it fun? Most definitely. I actually like to confuse people and tell them I need to check on Herbert. Great suspense on "who" Herbert is. Some of my friends regularly ask me how Herbert is doing.
Plants definitely make a place more livable. They give a space intention—and another living thing to share it with.
Maybe that's why every office window I looked into had one.
Were humans really made to spend their days in high-rise buildings - far away from nature? Maybe that's why every office window I looked into had a plant. Perhaps we're all just trying to bring a little bit of the outside back into our habitat.
The only question is can we tame nature and keep it alive?
I'm trying hard Herbert. Please hang in there.
