Though we've had moderate, spotty frost a few times over the past few weeks, tonight the temp is expected to go below freezing--and tomorrow we'll drop into the twenties. It's time to say goodbye to the houseplants.
This is hard for me. I'd normally be lining windowsills with as many plants as possible and taking cuttings from the rest. But that's not possible this year, so I've spent the past couple of months hardening my heart against the inevitable demise of my plants, some of which I've nurtured for years.
Anyone can sprout and grow an avocado. It's not that hard. But stepping outside tonight to say goodbye to the Christmas cactus, the seedling palms, the wandering jew and spider plants and avocado trees (three) and geraniums, the cane begonia that started as a gift from Glynis and Julie when R's mother died, the difficulty became clear: I think of these plants as witnesses. They lived with R and me. They were there. And to let them die, to let them go, makes me feel that much more alone.
Priscilla Atkins: Drinking the Pink
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