The Hidden Gift of Indoor Plants.

It's important to carve out space for other things that matter.

Hello Everyone.

Last night, I left all my houseplants outside, and they froze. I had not thought to check the weather or pay attention as the thermometer dropped. It was, after all, November 2nd. But I should have known better. A month ago, we had a killer frost in Vermont, and I lugged them all inside, all fifty or so pots. But with three weeks of glorious fall days, they went back outside to bask in the last sunny days with cool evenings. Most plants thrive in these conditions.

Losing my garden plants to frost was expected. Yet to say goodbye to the houseplants that have lived side by side with me for almost a decade was a sad sight. It wasn’t time to let them go, yet I was too busy focused on other things. It's easy to find ourselves inside the news cycle - mesmerized by the fight for democracy's survival. So why focus on houseplants? The attempt to care about everything we can’t control impedes the ability to pay attention to things that truly matter, or even something as mundane as the weather.

As a teenager, I bought my first plant, the most common jade (Crassula ovata), from a street vendor selling tiny seedlings in downtown Providence. One summer, I was enrolled in summer school at RISD (Rhode Island School of Design). This little green sprout ignited my lifelong passion for plants. I devoured the book Making Things Grow by Thalasso Cruso like a novel, absorbing the descriptions of a fragile, nonexistent root system that requires care not to overwater Crassula. I tended to that plant as if I had adopted a new puppy.

It came with me to college in update New York, a series of apartments around Boston, and finally to the house I built with my husband and young children in Vermont. It always claimed the best corner for light and was lifted onto a dolly to go outside during summer until one year when it took up half the sunroom. It no longer could fit through the French door onto the deck.

On my fiftieth birthday, I snipped it into 50 pieces, repotted all, and left them on the curbside for others to pick up for free. Every plant was gone by nightfall. A plant may be easier to give away than a puppy, and I suspect many are still growing strong in their new homes. Perhaps I’ve even inspired a few strangers to become gardeners as the street vendor did for me.

Green plants, both indoors and outdoors, have defined my life. But to say I am a gardener or a plantswoman only defines what I do in my free time. I live surrounded by a community of plants both indoors and outdoors. Plants are constant, steady, and reliable, that is, if I am paying attention to their needs. Most have come from other people and hold a memory of the person who shared their plants with me.

The rabbit's foot fern (Davallia solida var. fejeensis) once graced my grandmother's NYC apartment, thriving in the north-facing window that barely caught any direct sunlight. The split-leaf philodendron (Philodendron bipinnatifidum) was a giveaway at a garden lecture in NJ, and I could not believe he was giving them away for free. The oxalis (Oxalis tetraphylla) from mom collected different cultivars with colors ranging from light green to deep maroon red. The Christmas cactus (Schulumbergera x buckleyi)  started from a single leaf broken from the mother plant and reliably blooms each year on schedule.

Unlike the garden plants, my houseplants have followed me through life as loyal companions. I look forward to bringing them indoors, playing Baroque music for them, watching them for signs of new growth, and observing how they handle low-light corners, of which there are many. When they get too big, or someone asks, I will make a cutting to hand over, allowing the tiny plant to start a new life as a pass-along plant. Propagation for many house plants is as easy as snipping off a branch to make a cutting, keeping it in water until roots form, and then pushing it into soft soil.

The month of November and the clock change signal a time to do more indoor gardening. It may also be an opportunity to reflect, nurture yourself, and even go dormant. I'm not planning to replace the house plants I lost from a store, but I do plan to pay more attention to the few left. They remind me how I have grown as a gardener and are a sign of hope and renewal.

From my kitchen garden to yours,

Ellen Ecker Ogden

p.s. In January 2025, I will be teaching my Kitchen Garden Design class with Longwood Gardens. It's a six-week online class to give you the basics, from site to design to what to grow. It's designed for all gardening levels seeking a new, engaging way to grow a food garden. Link here.

Welcome.

Over the past few months, many new followers have signed up for my newsletter. Thank you! I am a kitchen garden designer and author of 6 books on cooking and kitchen garden design. I design playful, artful kitchen gardens based on European-style potagers because growing a food garden truly matters. In this column, I share seasonal thoughts on gardening, sometimes recipes, and always ideas for creating a sanctuary in your backyard – for yourself and wildlife. I’d love to hear from you! www.ellenogden.com