by guest blogger Maya Rodale, writer of historical tales of true love and adventure
Being a Rodale, I am often asked if I garden. For most of my life, I sheepishly said no. While I helped out in the backyard, or at the Rodale Institute, being a city dweller in cheap, dark apartments meant that I did not have a garden of my own. I’m happy to report that has changed since I moved to an apartment with actual sunlight and acquired my “plant babies.”
I started with an assortment of herbs and promptly killed all of them except for Rosemary and Sage (I think I overcrowded them). I dutifully watered them every morning and also took a moment to really look up close and notice all the new little shoots and leaves. One day, I turned Rosemary around and noticed she had grown in a mullet shape—short in the front, long in the back!
Sage grew tall and gangly. In an effort to make her bushier, I carefully clipped a few leaves, which I was going to chop and sauté in butter and pour over roasted sweet potatoes. Then I dashed out for a moment, and the one time the husband voluntarily cleaned the kitchen meant that he cleared off my cutting board—complete with my little sage leaves! I cried to see them wasted.
Sage later expired when I went away for a week and forgot to arrange for her to be watered. I have since increased my window garden brood to include Patsy the Palm, which is my dog Penelope’s afternoon snack, and a terrarium of succulents that I refer to as my Alien Plant Farm. Knock on wood, Rosemary is still going strong!
Question: Do you talk to your plants?
Maya Rodale is the author of multiple historical romance novels, as well as the nonfiction book Dangerous Books for Girls: The Bad Reputation of Romance Novels, Explained. She has a Master’s degree from New York University and lives in Manhattan with her darling dog and a rogue of her ownmayarodale.com. Her latest book is The Tattooed Duke.
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