Embedded Files
A Story of How it All Started
Let me tell you a story about my first attempt at growing my own, real, grown-up plants on the balcony of my own, real, grown-up apartment. Spoiler alert – I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. And – spoiler alert – it turned out OK.
It was almost February in Colorado and I was feeling SAD. I was busy all the time with school & work, exhausted, somewhat lonely, and desperately craving warmer times. On a whim one night, I decided to drive to Home Depot and buy myself some seeds. Why? I'm not really sure; I hadn't planted anything since I was 10 years old. As a kid, I used to beg my mom to let me grow sunflowers in a corner of our backyard, decorating my 3-foot "garden" with a boarder of little hand-painted rocks I'd made. I'd plant the seeds excitedly, but usually forget to water & tend to them after a couple of weeks. Thank goodness my kind-hearted mother picked up the slack while I was running around with my childhood friends. As I grew older, I stopped trying to grow anything.
"I had absolutely no idea what I was doing."
Even up until that night, as a 22-year-old adult, I didn't own a simple house plant. All of my greenery was of the faux, plastic variety that you buy from IKEA and never have to care for. Who knows why I felt so drawn to grow something again. I just decided to go for it, with no prior knowledge or preparation.
I walked through Home Depot with determination on my face. The outdoor garden section was closed down, as Colorado still had a foot of snow on the ground at the end of January. When I got to the smaller, indoor garden area, I stared at the carousel of seeds in the middle of the aisle. I browsed for about half an hour before walking to check out, my hands full of six brightly-colored packets.
The cashier asked me flatly, "You know it's still very early – do you have a grow light station prepared?"
"Oh, yeah," I muttered back. "Of course, it's just back at home."
It was a lie – I had no grow light station and no plans to get one. Who did he think I was? A serious gardener? A small farmer? Heck, I was essentially still an adult-in-training. Of course I didn't have a grow light station. I planned to go home and "borrow" dirt from around the tree in front of my apartment, plant my little seeds in decorative beer cans inspired by something I'd seen on Pinterest, and place them on my kitchen windowsill to flourish & remind me that spring was near.
Well, the dirt was frozen and had wood chips in it. My midnight heist trying to dig it out of the ground with a spoon was comedic. I clumsily cut the tops off the aluminum cans & hammered nail holes into the bottoms to allow excess water to drain out, but never thought to put something underneath to stop that draining water from leaving muddy marks on the white paint. And the sun, even in our generously lit, south-facing window, wasn't strong enough to prevent the seedlings from becoming "leggy". After all, the cashier was right – it was still very early in the season.
To make matters worse, I hadn't read the information on the back of the seed packets. I spent thirty minutes browsing the seed carousel for the prettiest plants, the fanciest florals, the biggest blooms, and didn't once think to look at anything except the picture on the front.
As it turns out, every single one of my six brightly-colored seed packets required "full sun." My covered patio, I quickly realized, would not be able to give them enough light to thrive. Further, three of the six were going to be giants. They wouldn't be nearly compact enough to fit in the petite window box I had on hand. In fact, they would grow to be as tall as I was and required a lot of space. Needless to say, they quickly outgrew their beer cans.
As they grew, I felt the urge to plant more & more. I started with a couple of seeds in a few DIY beer can "pots," and over the next month, I found myself going back to the store time & time again. I worried about when to transplant my seedlings so they'd have room to grow & expand freely. I worried they might be stunted or caged by the tiny containers they began their lives in. So I bought larger pots and real soil. I worried that they were too cold in my drafty windowsill and would freeze before they had a real chance. So I set up a space heater on snowy days and lit tea lights to try to keep them warm. I worried about whether they had enough (or too much) water to drink. So I bought a dollar-store plastic spray bottle to control moisture levels, thanks to a tip from an article I'd read online. And I worried about how much light they were getting, so I bought two grow lights that my expanding windowsill of plants all shared. By March, I still didn't feel like a serious gardener, a farmer, or even an official "plant lady." I felt about as all-over-the-place as I probably looked. But I also felt proud.
The moral of this story is that nobody is perfect, and we're all beginners at one point or another. The wonderful thing is that's absolutely OK. You're not a serious gardener or a farmer, and it's no big deal if you mess up. Your plans might fail, the rules you researched might be wrong, your circumstances might not cooperate – and your plants might still survive. Of course, I wanted my plants to thrive – at the very least, live – and they turned out to be hardy enough to handle all the shit I put them through. They had an inexperienced plant mother, occasionally over-watered soil, a chilly windowsill, less-than-ideal light, a craft beer can incubator, and stolen, nutrient-deficient, wood chip cluttered soil – and they still somehow made it.
Nothing in life is perfect. Trying to grow and nurture a living thing in your tiny apartment certainly isn't going to be. It'll teach you patience. It'll teach you to appreciate the little things. It'll remind you of your connection to the earth around you. It'll reward you for your efforts. And it'll show you the beautiful, ephemeral nature of life.
So, do your research, read the packets, take in the information you can, and give yourself grace – your plants might still be OK. And if they're not, or you mess up – laugh it off, learn from your mistakes, and try again. You may just end up with a humorous, endearing story & a newfound passion for plants.
Google Sites
Report abuse