Monday, April 23, 2012

Green Music

Have I ever mentioned the fact that my cat and I share our flat with thirty-nine house-plants?

It was never my intention to have such a well-stocked indoor garden, but, over the years the plants have arrived, settled in and flourished. The oldest, a begonia, came from my mother's home. Now in its prime at over forty years old, its abundant growth annually reaches the ceiling before being pruned back in the spring.

Several of the plants are in their twenties and thirties, many are teenagers, only one is a recent arrival. The majority of them were gifts, several were rescued. An ornamental ivy, found expiring in a hotel bedroom, was purchased from the hotel and rewarded me by thriving on its return home. A wilting sapling in a pot, abandoned on a pavement waiting to be collected by the council's refuse van, has now grown into a healthy, small tree.
Each has become a member of the family . . . a plant that comes to my home comes to stay.

I hope it doesn't sound fanciful to say that I see them as individuals, but this is what they are. Not only am I fully aware of their preferences when it comes to shade or sunlight, but they are equally good at making their needs clear on the crucial question of watering.

We know each other, my plants and I.
Or, at least, I thought we did.

What has caused me to think again is a remarkable video. It was sent to me recently by the Damanhur Foundation, an eco-society in Northern Italy.
Please allow yourself a moment to sit back and relax. I can promise you something both moving and enlightening. I can also promise you that, after watching it, you will never again look at your house-plants, or your garden, in quite the same way!