Yesterday, as I waited in my car, I found myself considering the difference between indoor plants and outdoor plants. That’s probably because I had a relative bush sitting in my passenger seat attempting to crowd my elbow space. You see, my husband and I moved this week, only a few blocks from our old place, but it still meant packing up everything, including the plants.
An indoor plant is subject to the amount of water and sun it’s caretaker provides. They have consistent conditions, it being neither too hot or too cold at any given time. Outdoor plants have just the opposite situation. Sun, frost, drought, blizzards… they stand for a lot.
The last few years have seen me move at least once a year. Now we have made what will hopefully be our last move for quite a while. We moved into an older home with all the creaks and character that accompany a house that has withstood over four score years. It needs a bit of TLC and then it will be a bright, lively house once again.
All the moving I have done has kept the moss from growing in my life. Each move is a fresh start. The old leaves have fallen, new ones have bloomed. Like an outdoor tree, I’ve lived in a variety of housing types: new homes, old homes, apartments, and dorms. It has its perks, especially for a writer.
While new starts and fresh beginnings have an invigorating quality, I’m looking forward to being able to enjoy some consistency, taking the time to invest in a new home to really make it our own. Indoor plants have it made in that regard. Who wouldn’t envy a plant whose biggest shock is being transplanted to a bigger pot because it outgrew the last one?
Life gives us so much, the trick is finding the new adventure in whatever form it takes. Whether it’s living in constant movement like oudoor plants, caressed by the wind and buffeted by the rain, or in the temperate environment of the indoor plant that allows it to spend all its energy being the best plant it can be. This new adventure will let me turn my creative juices into granting a fresh start to an older home.
Anyway, what could be a better muse than an old house with a winter peephole view of Lake Michigan?