For the love of plants

Me and plants never got along. It is not that I was never interested; on the contrary. I spent many happy hours assisting my mum gardening and walking through the forests. But as soon as I tried to raise my own green friend I miserably failed. I gave up after I became notoriously known as the girl who managed to kill a cactus.

I analysed my failures over and over again, but could not discover what went wrong. I tried everything: just a bit of water every week, lots of water daily, in front of the window, next to my bed… nothing could give my several plants the life spirit I hoped for. The only conclusion I could come up with was that plants really do need love.

I forgot about my period as a plant killer until this week, years after the death of my last cactus, something happened that confirmed this conclusion.

Not long after I started cooking as a student in Rotterdam, I discovered a magic ingredient. It is something that tastes good with almost everything, and whenever I add it to a dish I impress everyone. The flavour, the smell, the magic of it makes me look like a good cook.

Basil.

Still, it took me 4 years of university before I decided me and basil were ready for the next step. I mean, even when you have such a good relationship as me and basil it is quite a long-term commitment. But I decided to stop thinking about it and just jump into it. I bought myself a basil plant.

For some reason, I did not realise immediately that this basil plant was in fact a plant. Until today. I sat in the kitchen and all of a sudden it was there: beautiful, smelling great, green, and… alive. For a while I was amazed, but than I got it: I love basil.

It got me thinking though. Is this it? Would I still not love plants enough not to kill them, or is the survival of my basil an indication that I might be ready for more? A Christmas tree, maybe? Or maybe this is not about love at all. Maybe I just grew up.