A plant that looks like David Bowie?

We all deserve the joy and delight of living atop four stories of hallway gardens.

The message arrived the next morning.

Roshni and I had gone out on Saturday to buy plants for our apartment. We were young, recently married, and feeling just settled enough in our new place in Los Angeles’ Los Feliz neighborhood that we could commit to a few CO2-breathing housemates. Late that afternoon, we chose one fine specimen to put outside our front door. We awoke Sunday to a text from our building manager.

He was polite but firm: No plants in the common area. There was acres of space between our door and the next, but this was non-negotiable. Living or dead, green friends were not allowed. Not even 24 hours had elapsed.

I wonder what he — or at least the owners who set the rules — would make of the building where Roshni and I are now staying in Kosice, Slovakia.

The second floor has a wall-mounted fern that has more body than David Bowie’s 80s hairdo. I had to touch it to confirm it was real. A third floor balustrade has been taken over by a climbing ivy. Give it time and it might stretch two floors, even three. On the fourth floor, one down from ours, someone has rigged a plank over the handrailing. On it are balanced pots holding geraniums and enough tomato plants to satisfy even my father’s canning needs.

I want to live in an apartment building with this kind of hallway.

Sure, the laissez-faire attitude has other manifestations. The people on the ground floor apparently prefer plastic greenery. Other tenants have stashed planks in the common area or dusty boxes. Potting soil bags hide behind some flowers.

But the life in the halls more than makes up the messy corners. If we were staying longer, I would go ask the fern whisperer to share their secrets. I’d plant my own climbing vine; maybe it would meet the other one halfway? Perhaps I could even make friends with the god of tomatoes living below us. Surely, they could spare a few for a friendly American? Better yet, I could cultivate my own handrail.

Far from moving in, I am soon to leave behind my new friends. My two weeks are nearly up. But during my stay, these plants have made each going and coming richer. I walk up and down the stairs and past each floor’s row of windows with a smile. I breathe the sweet pungency of the tomato plants, cheer on the climbing vine and am shocked anew each time by the sheer exuberance of that fern. All those flights up and down, and down and up again have left me pondering, more than I normally might, what exactly is putting a smile on my face.

The fabulous greenery of our Kosice apartment building's hallways.

It’s surprisingly hard to articulate those reasons. I’m tempted to cite scientific statistics about how humans feel when hanging around plants. (Spoiler alert: Happier, healthier, calmer, more relaxed…) I believe, though, that capitalism actually provides a more potent proof.

Consider the richest neighborhood of your hometown. In mine, you can find some of the oldest trees in town, not to mention extravagant landscaping. Imagine an ultra-luxury hotel, the kind most of us only see in The White Lotus. Even in your mind, it is packed full of plants, no? Or go further back still. Think about the world’s palaces. From Buckingham to El Badi, every one I have visited has been paired with lush gardens. Green is not just the color of wealth, but of health and well-being. Monarchs, then and now, know the power of marigolds and morning glories.

Modern life, however, has not taken these lessons to heart. Our buildings keep us warm against cold and sheltered against the gathering storms, but frequently omit the things that nourish us. They are too often sterile, antiseptic places filled with synthesized materials. Essentially oil from floor to ceiling. And that is at the root of the challenges we all face.

But the truth is we don’t need a palace or a vast estate to live like kings and queens. Our apartment in Kosice is not a luxury building. Paint peels from the yellow walls, which are scuffed from past move-ins and accidents. The floor — a hastily laid faux-wood vinyl — bubbles in places. The stairs are deteriorating. Yet the plants — and a colorscape that favors green, even on the building’s meter boxes — make each floor sing.

The simple truth is that with a little time — and really it is not much — we can cultivate our own garden. Even if it’s just one pot at a time. Start like I did, with snake plants and cacti. The only way to kill them? Too much water. I have only gradually become the parent of a fig, rubber plant and massive monsterra. I even have one plant I cannot name. This did not happen all at once. Or without tragedies along the way.

A fern in my hallway isn’t going to solve what we face. But it will make me happier. And maybe my neighbor, too. That is a good a place to start as any. So, I want to pledge to you: When I get home, I am going to put a plant outside my door. You too?

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Take Action

drop | Put out a plant. If you don’t already have one, put a plant outside your front door. Who knows what’ll happen? I admittedly need to get the right friend, but I’ll share a photo as soon as I do.

ripple | Grow with friends. Join a community garden. Meet up with your neighbors. Talk plants with a friend. For instance, this Thursday I’m meeting with people from my climate group to talk about growing veggies in apartments.

wave | Support a greener world. Support an organization working with Indigenous communities or local peoples to protect more of the planet. My donation for this week went to Forest Peoples Programme.

Got even better ideas? Let me know. I’m new to this.

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Gate A-4 | excerpt

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling of her life, patting my knee,answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemademamoolcookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates andnuts—from her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate.To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like asacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, thelovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same powderedsugar. And smiling. There is no better cookie.

And then the airline broke out free apple juice from huge coolers and twolittle girls from our flight ran around serving it and theywere covered with powdered sugar, too. And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—had a potted plant poking out of her bag,some medicinal thing, with green furry leaves. Such an old country tradition. Always carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

– Naomi Shihab Nye

Read in full at poets.org.

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Gratitude

This newsletter is a collective project. Thanks to my editor-in-chief, Roshni Kavate, and my proofreader, Steve Kay. All errors are mine alone.