My Garden of Small Graces (Updated)

What does it take for a plant to grow? Soil plus water plus sun, right? That's what I was taught in kindergarten, and that's why I believe school doesn't prepare you for real life. Because if that's all it takes to succeed in gardening (just like it just takes a dream to succeed in life, they say), then this garden would be an Eden, not a green grave.

I started this garden project a few months year ago and I've had to bury more than a few hopes (in a new pot of soil, hoping they would grow again). An arrangement I bought from a local succulent grower died in two weeks (from overwatering, I believe—loved to death). A succulent that was thriving in one pot died when I moved it up to my hot but apparently sun-deficient office (those are its leaves you see in a rooting rosette). But every once in a while, a new leaf appears, a tiny white root peeks out, or a tired plant reunites with the sunlight and finds what it was looking for.

A humbled amateur, I'm thankful for the little graces Nature tosses her way, just enough to get my hands back in the dirt again the next day.

The Parable of the Succulents

I don't know much about gardening or succulents; I only know what I've read from other blogs and gardening forums. So this urban gardening project requires a lot of faith on my part—trusting things I don't fully (or maybe even remotely) understand. I probably check up on my plants more often than I should. Patience is a life skill I'm still working on.

It's funny how things we think we know for sure turn out to be completely wrong. Things we feel are thriving may actually have plateaued; those we think are dying are actually the ones who, in their struggle, are putting out roots that will anchor them for future growth.

Of all the succulent leaves I've left out to root, this was the one that looked like it had the least potential. Shriveled, shrunken and sad-looking next to its plump, green neighbors. Every day, I'd check all the other leaves for the roots that all the guides and garden gurus said would eventually emerge from the callouses. Every day, I've had to set aside my disappointment when I find nothing there. I hadn't even thought to check this sorry-looking one, so insignificant it seemed.

And yet, today, as I was moving it to make room for another, what should I find but these little white threads—enough to keep me hanging on.