My friend has the most beautiful houseplants. They each have their own floating shelf, like they think it’s 1992, and their leaves trail down the walls with great grace and verdancy. The sight is simultaneously calming and enlivening. I asked her how she kept them alive, and she said: “I don’t. When they die, I throw them away and get new ones.”
I didn’t even know you were allowed to throw away plants. I thought when they died, you had to keep the carrion as memorial to your own fecklessness. I still have a dead succulent I got as a gift for my first wedding. It survived five years in storage, though of course it helped that it was already dead.
So I called my friend immoral, but my sister was there too, and she intervened to point out that when my plants nearly die, I give them to her. She brings them back to life and returns them, for me to start killing them again.
Sometimes my mistake is very obvious – such as when I left the plant outside when it was meant to live inside, because I thought plants were like cats, and the “indoor” label was just invented by people who don’t have gardens. Other times there’s no logic to it; I was maybe just too loud in its vicinity. I don’t know how she restores them, and I never ask. She sent me a video about it once, but I didn’t watch it.
In addiction recovery, the old saw is that when you leave rehab, you should get one plant. If it’s still alive after a year, you can get a pet; if that’s still alive after a year, you’re allowed to go on a date. It’s unclear what you’re meant to do if you get a pet and a partner and then your plant dies – I guess rehome them both.
By this rationale, the next time I kill a plant I should give it to my sister along with my entire family. Or, to help with logistics, just invite her to inhabit my life, while I go and live in storage.
• Zoe Williams is a Guardian columnist
