Agronomy in the genes

Green thumb? Yes. Aside from our present north-facing patio, I can grow anything.

There are a couple things in particular that I love about growing plants: the genes and the hope.

It’s in the genes, my grandparents in particular:


* My grandfather who passed away young, whom I never knew. Grandfather had been an agronomist in the Caribbean Islands and Florida. In fact, that’s how he and Granny met – he’d been a boarder in her parents’ home while studying in Trinidad. Last year my dad and I went through Grandfather’s papers, including his 6-page resume and a letter of application for work.

* Granny, who cultivated a small jungle in the yard of her small suburban Florida home. I loved it there. She had orange and mango trees, thick groundcover and small weaving paths from one workstation to another. Her majestic staghorn fern, an air plant, was the size of a large man. This was not a kempt Martha Stewart garden; instead it was more of a balanced naturalness. Granny was not particularly organized and often took refuge in her trees, flowers and jungle – especially as she grew older and her mind became more scattered when faced with organizational tasks.

Granny worked as a crossing guard late in her life - once honored with a parade in her town.

Of Granny's pathways, this was the most formal - most were the width of your foot, trodden by her regular steps.

The gate into the back yard.

Orchids growing in sandy soil.

Fuschia-like flowers.

Fern-like flowering plant.

A smaller staghorn fern, about 2/3 the size of a man.

Two staghorn ferns that Granny was pampering, each approximately 2 1/2 feet wide.

* My other grandmother in a historic St Louis neighborhood, who kept roses and some indoor plants. After she passed away, Grandpa cared for all her plants, because it had been important to Grandma. I remember with quiet laughter though how Grandpa “pruned” Grandma’s pothos vine – Grandpa was a bricklayer and valued square corners and organization, not vines. So he simply pruned the vine into a compact, minimalist plant. After Grandpa passed away, I asked to take this plant, transferred her to a larger pot and gradually watched her stretch her now-long arms and breathe again more deeply.

(Interestingly, in my husband’s homeland of Nepal, the pothos vine is connected to Laxmi, the goddess of wealth. Pothos are grown in homes for luck – and it’s considered good luck to steal a piece to start your own plant growth in your own home.)

And then there’s the hope. Plants give me such hope. I regularly reuse soil and pots. And every summer, there’s at least one plant who sprouts again – one whom I’d thought was lost, who’d died a year or two previously.

Plants give me hope for my dreams. Just maybe, when our dreams appear to be lost, maybe the seeds are below the soil, still growing unseen.

- Brenda Gurung