Now that it grows duskier earlier, I’ve become more contemplative. Our outdoor fun, especially when playing with trajectory spherical objects, (even after a few minutes pass for our pupils to adjust to the darkness) turns into artillery that blasts into our faces. My indoor brooding has my mind wending through layers of theories, conspiracies or testimonies depending on how you see the world. Therefore, it’s no wonder that it has occurred to me that caring for plants is a leap of faith just as in science, faith in God or faith in traditional healing. They’re a few fitted in white lab coats that physically test their theories by performing experiments and don’t require faith in their existence because they have gone through great lengths to provide evidence. For us laypeople, faith is essential in the process of our dogmas. Faith that the technician analyzing the contents of the test tube is competent. Faith that our doctor is seasoned or that our acupuncturist’s method of whatever works…whether it works or not.
In other words our faith, or whoever’s words of wisdom we choose to be devoted to, will have different paths to the same destination. Therefore just as any doctor cares deeply (we hope) for her patient, or any God cares deeply for her worshiper, I care deeply for my plants in my nest. (Not that I am comparing myself to any deity, I’m aware I have far too many flaws.) When our beloved miniature banana tree took a turn for the worst, we were not there to see the signs. So deep into our most recent move, maneuvering larger objects into their new places, we indolently came around to placing her in the corner. It was then I noticed. Destitute. Usually, we are careful and fastidious with our flora especially in moves. We inform the movers, they are our babies that we have had them for half our lives now and that we don’t want to hear how they are not allowed on the truck. We always figure out a way. However, the last move (the shortest distant move as of date) being so disorganized and horrific our mini tree was being eaten alive by miniscule little pests. There was no formal experimentation nor no heed of measuring one treatment against another…I held onto precious faith…whatever method I tried that she will eventually fight the critters off and grow stronger. One leaf after another fell off until there was none. After the third attempt of digging deep into the pot with natural methods, after so many other casualties (a variety of herbs were planted, none survived) I pulled out the hacksaw. It was time to saw off a couple of the palms that were thwarting us from entering the house. Now with an obstruction-free entrance way and two arms of the palms stuck in the dirt like stakes right out of Lord of the Flies will they grow? They are not sweet like the other casualties and they have scaly trunks so will my latest experiment work? Even if it doesn’t work I can always toss up my hands in the air and blurt out, “the ways of God are not open to reason.” I warned you I have been contemplating in my nest a lot as of late.