Tending to Small Lives

Every Sunday morning, I water the plants. Seven of them scattered throughout my apartment. A routine so ordinary I barely thought about it until recently.

But something shifted when I started paying attention to what I was actually doing. Not just completing a task. Tending to small lives that depend on me.

This pothos has been with me for four years. I brought a cutting from my previous apartment. It's tripled in size. Those leaves weren't there six months ago. This plant is growing because of what I do every week.

I've learned what each plant needs. The snake plant near the window wants to dry out completely between waterings. The fern needs consistent moisture. The succulent on the shelf needs almost nothing.

This knowledge came through attention and failure. Overwatered plants. Forgotten plants. Plants I had to trim back or repot or move to better light. Small deaths and recoveries.

Now I know them. Not like a botanist knows plants, but like you know the preferences of someone you live with. This one likes morning light. That one tolerates neglect. This one needs humidity.

Caring for plants teaches a particular kind of patience. You can't rush growth. You can only provide conditions and wait. Water. Light. Time. Then trust the plant to do what plants do.

There's satisfaction in this kind of simple, ongoing responsibility. Every week, they need water. Every week, I provide it. The reciprocity is quiet but real. I give attention. They give life to the space.

Friends comment on how healthy my plants look. They want to know my secret. But there isn't one. Just consistency. Weekly watering. Adequate light. Occasional fertilizer. Nothing complicated. Just sustained, regular attention.

The same principles that keep plants alive keep most things alive. Consistent care. Appropriate conditions. Patience with the process.

I think about this on Sunday mornings as I move from plant to plant with my watering can. How these small acts of maintenance create the conditions for ongoing life. How reliability matters more than intensity.

You can't water a plant once and expect it to thrive forever. You have to return. Again and again. The same action, repeated weekly, becomes care.

My plants aren't spectacular. No rare species or impressive blooms. Just common houseplants doing what they do. Growing slowly. Converting light and water into leaves. Being green and alive in my space.

That's enough. More than enough. These small lives I tend every Sunday teach me about attention, consistency, and the quiet satisfaction of simple ongoing care.

Next Sunday, I'll water them again. Same plants. Same task. Different leaves. Always growing.