Laughing Buddha (essay by Jill inspired by Jennifer's image)

Laughing Buddha

I’m not a huge fan of nature. I mean, I appreciate its beauty and sometimes like to be outside—when it’s not too hot... or too cold... or too sunny... or too buggy. You get the idea.

But, I do love inside nature, or rather houseplants! 

When I was younger, my dad was someone who possessed a green thumb, and I so very much wanted to have plants in my room or later my house in my younger adult years. Sadly, I had not inherited his plant-tending gene. Over the years, my dad had given me several plants—probably because I would admire his. But I would end up killing every single one of them. 

With each gift of foliage, it was the same pattern. At first they would thrive—for, like, a month or two. They would be absolutely beautiful, and I would think, “I’ve finally figured it out this time!” And then pretty much what seemed to be overnight, they just weren’t doing well. And before I knew it, they were dead. 

Eventually, my dad told me that the next time he gave me a plant, I had to promise to give it back as soon as it started to fade. And even though I did make that promise to him, he never gave me another one. So, I had lived plant-less for several years—figuring that for whatever reason, I was just someone who could be labeled a plant killer. And I accepted that.

When I had my first full-time librarian job at our holiday party, the staff were each given a Christmas cactus. While I was excited to receive the plant, I felt a little scared. “I’m sorry,” I whispered to mine, as I tentatively selected it from the table.

But that plant didn’t die. 

Truthfully, I was shocked when several months had passed and it still seemed to be thriving. How was this even possible? After a while I figured that maybe I was able to handle a certain type of easy to care for plant like cacti. Maybe they were just a heartier breed. So, while I was a bit hopeful, I still was hesitant to take on the responsibility of keeping any other indoor foliage alive.

Then one of my storytime kids gave me a shamrock plant on St. Patrick’s Day. 

While I was excited to receive the gift, as the plant was transferred into my hands, I worried that the poor thing’s days were numbered. And while this shamrock plant did actually fade a few times—even getting down to one leaf left at times, it, miraculously, has kept coming back.

About the same time that I was given the shamrock plant, a dear friend gave me some clippings from plants that lived in the last library I had worked at. While I was excited to have babies of plants that I used to spend 40 hours a week with, I was also hesitant to take them, thinking they may not survive either.

But they also lived. 

Over the years, with each plant I’ve successfully kept alive, my thoughts have changed from me being a plant killer to the idea that I may have actually inherited my dad’s green thumb. I just possibly have inherited the variety that waits to originate until the age of 39.

Now, I have several houseplants at home and at work that I’ve named and that I love and care for in a way that does remind me of my dad and his plants from my earlier memories. So, when I saw this picture on November 9, instead of focusing on the delightful smiling Buddha at the forefront, I immediately zoomed in on all the foliage and dreamed about all the varieties of plants that I will care for someday.

—Jill Cullen (written 11.12.21—the day after my dad’s 75th birthday. Happy Birthday, Dad!)