Emily Howlett: Lockdown Life Lessons From… Plants

I need to talk to you about my plants. 

Or, maybe, the people I live with need me to talk to you about my plants.

You see, while everyone else spent The First Lockdown (2020) learning to make bread and fighting over toilet roll, I decided to roll slightly differently… I bought a plant.

For context; I started lockdown in a two bedroom flat, which I absolutely adored, but which was a rather tight squeeze alongside two children and a great, big Hearing Dog (I think at least one of his parents was a polar bear). 

And, although we were lucky enough to live near a lot of open space, we didn’t really have anywhere outside to call our own. 

A long, long time ago, I was given a spider plant (his name is Hans, please don’t ask why because I do not know, just as I don’t know who decided his gender).

Hans had survived years in the flat simply because he doesn’t care about anything. He didn’t grow, but he also didn’t die. He just sat there, observing, and being grateful when I (very rarely) remembered to water him.

The life of Hans was, and is, a simple one. We could probably all learn a lot from Hans, the spider plant. 

However, during lockdown, I had a lot of time to sit and think. (I also had a lot of time to plan how we might get a larger house, which we achieved at the end of 2020 *happy dance*, but that’s another glorious story for another glorious day.)

I say ‘sit and think’ as if it was a mindful pastime; I was usually sitting and thinking while on the toilet, or hiding under the bed, because this is the only way anyone locked down with children can get any peace. That’s a scientific fact; you may quote me on it.

One day, I was looking at Hans, and I decided he might be lonely. You might wonder if this says more about my emotional state than the plant’s, but… well.

Long story short, as soon as the garden centres opened, I scuttled along to find a new friend for Hans. The children also chose a plant each, for their bedrooms. One plant each. Singular.  So, we now had four plants to keep alive. More than enough.

A month later, the garden centres were still open, and we now had seven plants, including a polka dot begonia which is notoriously dramatic and will die at any opportunity. They take a LOT of looking after.

But, do you know what? We were all loving it. Yes, we nearly killed the begonia immediately, and had to cut back all its soggy leaves, apologising as we did.

We learned about mixing our own compost, with extra perlite (no, I still do not know what this is). The kids have watering and general care responsibilities, and, unlike homework, they love it.

Yes, sometimes the entire bed gets watered and that is a major ballache, and sometimes they decide to spray each other rather than any leaves… but it’s a little bit of outside, inside.

It’s a bit of responsibility that actually doesn’t come with too much pressure. We love the plants, but if we kill them it’s a learning opportunity, rather than a tragedy. 

So, we had seven plants. Fast forward one year, to now… 

This is my son’s collection:

This is my daughter’s collection:

I can’t show you my collection, because there isn’t enough room. My son’s collection is much more complicated than my daughter’s; she prefers colours, while he prefers technicality. My collection is just Big, Dramatic Plants (can’t think why I am drawn to those). 

But here is Hans:

It’s a funny thing, you know. Since we got all the others, and started learning how to take care of houseplants, Hans has started to grow. He’s pushed out flowers. He’s had babies! We’ve been giving mini-Hans’ to our friends for months now.  Whether they want them or not. 

I thought Hans was fine, and he was. But something during lockdown, with all this attention on home, has helped him be even better.

I thought we were fine, and we were. But something during lockdown, with all this attention on home, has helped us find a new, exciting, and wholly unexpected interest to share during this bizarre time. And that has been even better.

I’m really looking forward to the time when we go back to some kind of ‘normal’. I want to see my friends, and have them visit me (and my plants), without restrictions or fear.

I want to go back to work properly, and create amazing things. I want to travel again, near and far. I want to go to garden centres all around the world. 

But I also want to remember what we learned about being at home together. Yes, it’s bloody nightmarish at times, and frustrating, and, my word, we’ve done well to get through it at all.

But it’s also been a time for reflection and taking both note and care of the things closest to us. The sheer scale of everything that is happening around the globe is utterly overwhelming, and sometimes taking care of yourself means focusing on the smaller stuff.

Just being open to small surprises, and allowing them to carry you along.  Just being open. Just being.

It might not feel very proactive. But it is so important. And it might lead to unexpected flowers. 

Emily Howlett is a profoundly Deaf actress, writer and teacher. She makes an awful lot of tea. And mess. She now has not one, but four grey eyebrow hairs. C’est la vie. She tweets as @ehowlett