How I discovered the joy of house plants during the coronavirus lockdown

Coronavirus has changed our world so dramatically it can feel like it’s stopped spinning.
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Coronavirus has changed our world so dramatically it can feel like it’s stopped spinning.

It’s like we’re floating in limbo, not knowing if our loved ones will be okay, if our jobs are safe or what sweeping social changes await us in the next Government briefing.

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But in the face of so much upheaval, we can seek comfort in the little things and the easing of lockdown restrictions yesterday (May 13) brought an unexpected symbol of hope – the humble garden centre.

Herald reporter John with two of his plant pals SUS-200514-165115001Herald reporter John with two of his plant pals SUS-200514-165115001
Herald reporter John with two of his plant pals SUS-200514-165115001

There is a reassurance in these wholesome treasure troves, filled with exactly the kind of inconsequential joys many of us need in these uncertain times.

Since the end of March, I too have sought solace and distraction in a new fixation on rearing plants.

With all this spare time, I had an opportunity to reverse a lifetime of plant neglect. To turn over a new leaf, if you will.

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I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to suggest the appalling number of shrubs, flowers and ferns that have died in my care may have accelerated global warming.

Before the lockdown they would simply fall down the priority list, usurped by trips to the pub and ensuing hangovers, days out and evenings spent flopped on the sofa, drained from a week of deadlines and commutes.

Now they have my undivided attention.

My plant odyssey began with a pair of hanging baskets but soon went into overdrive with a striking Kentia palm, a monstera deliciosa (cheese plant), a yucca, a fern, a lavender tree, some edible flowers (as yet uneaten), a surely unkillable cactus and a beautiful purple geranium.

I even salvaged a ficus tree from the bin, having given it up for dead the day before.

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Seven weeks later and I am delighted to report that not only are my new chlorophyll kids thriving, they have enriched my life even more than expected.

A few weeks into lockdown I found myself stagnating, sick of the endless webcam meetings and tired of the constant lingering dread. But as I stepped onto my balcony I was buoyed by the sight of tiny green tendrils of life peaking their heads out of the soil. The first hints of a sweet pea.

On mornings where I struggled to pull myself out of bed, I would notice my new monstera leaf had unfurled that tiny bit more.

Feeling a bit overwhelmed? Maybe I should increase the humidity around my Kentia palm with a light misting.

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This may sound like a cry for help, but my point is that in these uncertain times the simple pleasures become so valuable.

While the world outside seems to be bursting into flames, plants carry on undeterred: symbols of life, continuity and growth.

The coronavirus pandemic has brought changes that were unimaginable even three months ago. We have all looked on in horror at the incomprehensible death figures and many have grieved for loved ones or lost their jobs.

But every day there are signs of how our communities have persevered. A new appreciation of the NHS and other key workers risking their lives every day; restaurants delivering tonnes of free meals; thousands of hand-stitched face masks being dropped off at care homes; a renewed, undeniable focus on kindness, empathy and a hope that we can lay down the roots of a stronger, more compassionate society.

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Already we can see the green shoots of recovery, and it is no wonder that the reopening of our garden centres has become such a central image to the rebuilding process.

Freed from our homes, now we can wander thoughtlessly among the shrubbery, wondering whether this plant could brighten up the tired old living room or add some colour to our outdoor space.

It may seem a small luxury but, to many, it will mean the world.

Many have argued that lockdown has been eased too early. That trying to rebuild now is like putting your shelves back up while your house burns around you.

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It may well be that these tentative first steps are a false dawn and a return to stricter measures follows.

But amid all the uncertainty and the grieving, we should allow ourselves a little optimism and hope that, just like my sweet peas, we are slowly heading in the right direction.

Are you looking forward to getting to your local garden centre? We’d love to hear what garden centres mean to you - share your stories with me at [email protected]