Both my grandmothers had flowers and plants all over their homes. Their gardening timeline followed moon cycles and other acquired knowledge I didn’t have much interest for. However, I did admire the pretty flowers and enjoyed the lemons and juicy peaches from the trees in their gardens.
A few years ago, my dad gave me a small tree, and I struggled to keep it alive. He took it back to save it. I became frustrated, thinking if I wanted to have plants, it would be just one more thing I would need to ask a caregiver to assist me with. Surely, plants and gardening were not for quadriplegics.
One day, when I was down a Google rabbit hole, I read and researched microgreens, about the ease of growing them and their nutritional value. With curiosity, I found some takeout containers I had saved, bought seeds and started my own microgreens garden. Soon there were tiny sprouts, and I felt the familiar excitement I had in seventh grade science class from growing bean sprouts in a Styrofoam cup. This was a small garden I could set on a table, and I could use a cup or spray bottle to hydrate the plants. Through trial and error, I eventually made it accessible to me and was able to watch my plants grow.
Fast forward a year, and I’ve asked my brother to build me a raised bed for an outdoor garden and a table for my indoor plants. Checking on them has become something I look forward to. There is joy in caring for something and helping it thrive. I have slightly remodeled my living room to be my own little oasis of green that saves my mental health during grey winter months or isolating pandemics.
It’s possible I’m becoming my grandmother. I look forward to it.