Saturday, August 11, 2012

Another post about flowers...

I'm not the kind of person who names her plants. OK, I'm exactly the kind of person who names her plants. But, surprisingly, I usually don't.

My mother sent a basket with several different plants to me when I moved to Chicago many years ago. There was almost no natural light in that apartment, but three of the plants in the basket survived and I still have them. One, a prayer plant, I named Hector. There was no good reason for it -- one day, I just looked at it and decided that this was its name.

A few months ago, I decided that I needed specific new plants (rather than just going to a nursery or Lowe's and picking up something random) and ordered a cast iron plant online. Almost immediately, I knew that it's name was Harvey.

Lately, I decided that the giant motherwort that I have growing out front needed a name, but nothing was speaking to me.

This morning I named it Hazel.

Which is all to say that, apparently, I only give my plants names that begin with H.

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