One of my happiest memories is that of my adoptive mother Pearl's caring for her many houseplants...
We lived in an apartment building in New York City, in a three-room unit on Stratford Avenue in the Bronx, which is one of the city's five boroughs.
As a homemaker my mom was devoted to caring for her family which consisted of me, her only child, and my dad, Nathan. But she loved her houseplants as well. They were a big part of her life. And if anyone was said to have a "green thumb" when it comes to growing plants and flowers, it was her.
In fact, my mom was something of a legend in the neighborhood when it came to houseplants. Always outgoing, helpful, and generous, my mom had a wide circle of friends. And as for her green thumb, she was the neighborhood's plant doctor.
It was a familiar sight to see someone carrying a houseplant in a planter or flowerpot headed to our apartment. My mom would sit the sick plant on our kitchen table after first covering the table with old
newspapers. From here she would skillfully use her hands much the same way a surgeon would use
his hands with the hope of facilitating a successful healing.
As for the plant's owner, she would quietly watch with anxious eyes as my mom did her best. Some plants were made well, and some could not be saved even with my mom’s self-sacrificing efforts. Much like people when they become ill, not every one of us lives on to see a new day.
That was my mom. She did it because she loved nature, and she loved her neighbors. My mother never charged a single penny for her service. Her payment was finding joy in what she was doing.
D. B.
As a homemaker my mom was devoted to caring for her family which consisted of me, her only child, and my dad, Nathan. But she loved her houseplants as well. They were a big part of her life. And if anyone was said to have a "green thumb" when it comes to growing plants and flowers, it was her.
In fact, my mom was something of a legend in the neighborhood when it came to houseplants. Always outgoing, helpful, and generous, my mom had a wide circle of friends. And as for her green thumb, she was the neighborhood's plant doctor.
It was a familiar sight to see someone carrying a houseplant in a planter or flowerpot headed to our apartment. My mom would sit the sick plant on our kitchen table after first covering the table with old
newspapers. From here she would skillfully use her hands much the same way a surgeon would use
his hands with the hope of facilitating a successful healing.
As for the plant's owner, she would quietly watch with anxious eyes as my mom did her best. Some plants were made well, and some could not be saved even with my mom’s self-sacrificing efforts. Much like people when they become ill, not every one of us lives on to see a new day.
That was my mom. She did it because she loved nature, and she loved her neighbors. My mother never charged a single penny for her service. Her payment was finding joy in what she was doing.
D. B.
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