Growing plants is in my blood. Ancestors on both sides of my family grew crops, kitchen gardens, and flowers. When they moved from farms to cities, they grew plants in backyards and on windowsills. Even after our recent downsizing, I kept a seven-foot-tall Schefflera tree, a twenty-year-old Christmas cactus, and far too many other potted species.
My grown-up daughter also has the plant-growing gene and the ones I couldn’t fit in this smaller house have a happy home with her. In the summer, she has an abundant kitchen garden, and, in the winter, she successfully propagates houseplant cuttings.
Several years ago, she gave me a beautiful peace lily, one she reared after dividing a lily of her own. It flourished for a long time, but when we put our old house on the market, the lily pot was “staged” into a corner that made it very unhappy. Then we moved, and it became even more unhappy.
Eventually, only two crispy brown leaves were left sticking out of the dirt, without a green shoot in sight. I felt really bad for failing my daughter’s plant, but I had done all I could. It was time to throw the poor thing away, so I emptied out the soil.
In the middle of the pile of dirt were two perfectly plump, green and white rhizomes. I was so sure that my plant was beyond hope, but here were these healthy little nuggets.
I couldn’t just toss it in the trash. Instead, I filled the pot with fresh soil and nestled the rhizomes back in carefully. Then I chose a new permanent spot with the indirect but bright lighting peace lilies prefer and I watered it regularly.
Nothing showed up for weeks, but eventually, a tiny green sprout broke through the surface. That was in August. Since then, a number of leaves have unfurled, and my peace lily looks to be well on its way to becoming the beautiful, bushy plant it was before.
Last week, I was watering my plants just after reading the news over breakfast. 2023 has not been a peaceful year, neither in the news nor in my own neighborhood. Facing horrific news reports and mean-spirited barbs day after day sometimes makes me wonder if humanity is beyond hope, that we should just throw it all out.
Watering my thriving little lily helped my pessimism lift a bit. Maybe I can’t see it right now, but surely there is a buried rhizome of peace in the world that can, with extra care, sprout and grow.
The peace lily is named for the flower-like leaf that waves its white flag over the foliage. It symbolizes healing, hope, and peace. My wish for the new year is that my peace lily will bloom, and that peace will bloom in the hearts of hostile people. I know it will take extra care on my part, but I’m ready to put in the effort to make both happen.
I hope my plant story will give you hope for healing and inspire your efforts toward peace as well. Here’s to all of us and to all of our New Year wishes. Happy 2024!