There are No Magical Plant-watering Fairies
On growing up, grounding down, and learning to love the living world
Audio version:
Happy spring! Today, a story about trees, growth, and the quiet wisdom of nature.
Last month, we cut down a big old cedar tree in our front yard. It had been losing branches and leaves for a while. Our gardener delivered the quiet verdict: it was time.
As I went out to give it a final hug, my husband fondly chuckled to our boys: “Mom’s going to hug the tree.”
“I most certainly am,” I said, with a broad, unapologetic smile.
Ten years ago, I would have chuckled at me, too—and my husband might have backed away slowly. Thankfully, we’ve both grown since then.
For most of my life, trees and plants were just scenery. A flower was something you picked and tucked behind your ear.
Twenty years ago, as a newlywed, I casually remarked to my husband how proud I was that our houseplants stayed alive despite never needing water. He stared at me, incredulous.
“What are you talking about?! I water them! It’s not like there are magic plant-watering fairies!”
I was stupefied—and delighted. My new husband turned out to be a garden gnome in disguise, magical in more ways than one.
Fifteen years later, we moved into a Mediterranean-style house with a modern facade and pristine box hedges. It screamed polished perfection. I imagined golf bros in boat shoes leaning on their clubs. Not quite my vibe. This garden needed to grow its hair out.
I called Leslie Bennett of Pine House Edible Gardens. She said, “You need to talk to my client Hana for inspiration.” Days later, Hana and I were wandering through glowing tulips, cherry blossoms, herbs, and redwoods in her Atherton garden—instant friends, like chia pets when the water hits.
Over many months, Hala and I met in her garden to play. We’d scoop up flowers from Trader Joe’s, gather more from her backyard, and spend an hour arranging: balancing blooms with “faces,” gestural flowers, and filler.
As the seasons passed, our friendship grew, and my garden filled in. One day, looking out my bedroom window at the old cedar and my now-lush front yard, I felt something unexpected: held. The plants were alive. Pulsing. Loving.
“Oh,” I thought. “They literally give me the air I breathe. Of course.”
Being the distracted human I am, that feeling faded. But like a perennial, it kept returning—quiet, persistent, alive.
On vacation in Fiji for my 50th birthday, a massive tree outside our bedroom stopped me in my tracks. Rooted deeply, branches twisting skyward, thousands of leaves shimmering in the breeze.
“Wow,” I thought. “I want to be just like that tree.”
To my surprise, I was already learning how. As a birthday gift to myself, I had enrolled in a two-year energy wisdom course. A core teaching: grounding.
“Connect to the Earth,” our teacher said. “Or water. Or air. Ground to anything in nature.”
I imagined merging with that grandmother tree. Then standing on a mountain, steady and expansive. Even my wooden floors felt like old friends saying hello.
Nature—and support—was everywhere.
I wanted more. “I need houseplants,” I told Hana. We bee-lined to Flora Grubb in San Francisco and packed my car like a mobile jungle.
My husband chuckled again. “Who’s going to water all those?”
“Don’t worry,” I replied, grounded in a new knowing. I couldn’t ignore them. We needed each other.
Now, over a dozen houseplants thrive in my home. The front yard bursts with roses, foxglove, and pink strawflowers. Even when my attention drifts to the news, I know how to ground through it. The more I notice nature, the more my connection to it grows.
Nature is always present—steady, yet ever-changing. Like us, it moves through seasons of growth, decay, and renewal. A little nourishment goes a long way.
Because as my husband will tell you, there are no magical plant-watering fairies.
But there is love. And sunlight. And you.
Just like a seed, here’s what you need:
patience, warmth, a caring heart—
so you can bloom and play your part
in Mother Nature’s brilliant art.
I love this so much, and, I confess, am the slightest bit jealous because I am the kind of person who kills plants with a glance. But I *am* learning to arrange flowers, so that's something, right?
One friend said her Mother told her plants like to be watered the same time of day each week. I think regularity-especially for indoor houseplants does matter.