One of my goals for 2012 has been to reconnect with nature, primarily by spending more time outdoors. That's been a tough one so far — I work a corporate nine-to-five, and I teach my classes at the dojo indoors. I've come to realize that I just don't get out all that much! I'm working on that by trying to add in little five-minute nature walks throughout the work week, but honestly, the office park parking lot just isn't all that exciting. I'm going to start biking to work when the warmer weather gets here. Not too long now.
Inside my office, my primary connection to nature has been a little bonsai tree that I have sitting on the windowsill. I've managed to keep the same tree alive for a few years now, which is a pretty good accomplishment in light of my many bonsai failures. I've kept up with the watering and pruning. I've trained the tree with wire. I fertilize it. And every year at about this time, I begin looking closely to detect the first sign of new buds as the tree emerges from its winter dormancy. Bonsai need to be kept wet: I water mine thoroughly up to three times a week, and I'm told it's basically impossible to over water them. The tree's looking pretty good!
This week, I added to my "indoor nature preserve:" I picked up a small and delicate-looking orchid. Now, I've killed an orchid or two in my day, but I'm willing to try again! In sharp contrast to bonsai trees, which are impossible to drown, I've learned that the main cause of death for orchids is overwatering. So rather than placing the orchid in a dunk tank, as I do with the bonsai, I've been instructed to simply place an ice cube in the orchid's pot once a week, and let it melt slowly so that the roots can absorb the dripping water. And I need to make sure I drain the pot adequately so that standing water doesn't kill the roots.
So now I've got two plants in the office, each beautiful in its own way, each requiring an entirely different approach to keep it healthy.
Back at home, I've got a spider plant. Now that thing takes some serious abuse! I've had it for years — I've totally ignored it, I've forgotten about it on more than one occasion, and I've even left it for dead several times only to see it somehow stubbornly come back to life after receiving the least amount of care. Perhaps I should bring the spider plant into the office, too. I could stand to learn more about it. It deserves just as much attention as the two plants in my office. The spider plant, I'm sure, also wants to be vibrant and alive and appreciated for what it is.
I'm coming to see how people are like plants. Each person is beautiful and uniquely different. Each person wants to grow and express their individuality. And each person needs a different kind of attention. All people need "water and sunshine" to grow and thrive, but beyond the basics, what will injure, stunt, or kill one will nourish another and make it bloom.
And so with the people in my life, as with the plants in my life, I must pay close attention.
Inside my office, my primary connection to nature has been a little bonsai tree that I have sitting on the windowsill. I've managed to keep the same tree alive for a few years now, which is a pretty good accomplishment in light of my many bonsai failures. I've kept up with the watering and pruning. I've trained the tree with wire. I fertilize it. And every year at about this time, I begin looking closely to detect the first sign of new buds as the tree emerges from its winter dormancy. Bonsai need to be kept wet: I water mine thoroughly up to three times a week, and I'm told it's basically impossible to over water them. The tree's looking pretty good!
This week, I added to my "indoor nature preserve:" I picked up a small and delicate-looking orchid. Now, I've killed an orchid or two in my day, but I'm willing to try again! In sharp contrast to bonsai trees, which are impossible to drown, I've learned that the main cause of death for orchids is overwatering. So rather than placing the orchid in a dunk tank, as I do with the bonsai, I've been instructed to simply place an ice cube in the orchid's pot once a week, and let it melt slowly so that the roots can absorb the dripping water. And I need to make sure I drain the pot adequately so that standing water doesn't kill the roots.
So now I've got two plants in the office, each beautiful in its own way, each requiring an entirely different approach to keep it healthy.
Back at home, I've got a spider plant. Now that thing takes some serious abuse! I've had it for years — I've totally ignored it, I've forgotten about it on more than one occasion, and I've even left it for dead several times only to see it somehow stubbornly come back to life after receiving the least amount of care. Perhaps I should bring the spider plant into the office, too. I could stand to learn more about it. It deserves just as much attention as the two plants in my office. The spider plant, I'm sure, also wants to be vibrant and alive and appreciated for what it is.
I'm coming to see how people are like plants. Each person is beautiful and uniquely different. Each person wants to grow and express their individuality. And each person needs a different kind of attention. All people need "water and sunshine" to grow and thrive, but beyond the basics, what will injure, stunt, or kill one will nourish another and make it bloom.
And so with the people in my life, as with the plants in my life, I must pay close attention.
