I just finished washing my dishes and cleaning my little boys’ room. I have a pot of chicken soup bubbling on the stove. It is a blustery and chilly fall day here in our corner of the world. I am listening to the muffled sounds of my husband and two of his siblings as they work on finishing the roof of our new arctic entry. There is a bit of an urgency in their voices as they hurry to try and beat the forecasted coming storm. I see a bit of blue peeking through the low hanging clouds and I wonder if, perhaps, there will not be much of a storm after all. The vivid yellow leaves remind me that, although we may not see a downpour today, there will soon be mountains of fluffy snow covering the ground.
They better hurry with that roof after all.
As I tidy up and look around my space, my eyes rest on my one and only potted house plant. During my growing up years, the sight of a house plant was just part of being home. My mom loved them. She still does. I am always amazed at the beauty she creates with them in every house she calls home. From her I learned that a house plant can soften the edges of a bookcase, decorate a windowsill, trail down the side of a hutch, or sit atop the refrigerator. Their presence can remind us of life, especially during the cold winter months when outdoor life is laying dormant and still under the frozen ground.
But every house plant I tried to tend has shriveled up and died. I blamed it on lack of sunlight or not giving them water frequently enough. Eventually I came to accept the fact that I would never have beautiful house plants like the ones that graced the home of my childhood.
When my dad died, that changed. Perhaps I just never had the right plant. Perhaps I needed a reason greater than simply enjoying the way they looked to keep a plant alive. Maybe, it was knowing that it was a gift in remembrance of my dad that gave me the will to keep it alive. Whatever the reason, the plant that I was given as a sign of sympathy from dear friends has remained alive. It is thriving in my home.
And every time I look at it I am reminded of my daddy.
It’s a Peace Lily. It’s grown out of its pot twice. Sometimes I do forget to water it. It droops its leaves, gently reminding me of its thirst. As soon as I give it a drink, its leaves stand up again. This is the easiest house plant for anyone who doesn’t naturally have a green thumb. I recommend placing one in your home. Mine serves as a visual reminder not only of my daddy, but also of the love and care from friends who gathered around us during the difficult days following his death. My Peace Lily has become a symbol of hope in my home.
Do you have a favorite house plant? Tell me about it in the comments and please share on social media!