It’s a Jungle In Here

Early one Saturday morning, my 11-year-old decided to take cuttings from all our houseplants, replant them in the biggest garden pots he could find, and fill his tiny shared bedroom with greenery. Spider plants, tradescantia and a couple of aloes, all mixed in together and soaked with water, standing on dinner-plates borrowed from the kitchen. His 9-year-old brother woke up later that morning, saw the transformation and thought he was still dreaming a happy dream.

When both your sons actually agree on something, you let it happen if you can. The boys watered their chosen treasures sporadically but generously, and their jungle grew, crowding windowsill and furniture until there was barely room to sleep there. Trailing stems and offshoots wandered around, getting accidentally pruned off when they crossed someone’s pillow or caught on someone’s clothing. 

A few months later I noticed that something had changed. My younger son had stopped coughing. That nasty little cough that used to persist for weeks following every bout of cold or flu… it was gone. 

Cause or coincidence? It’s called “anecdotal evidence”—a correlation that sometimes appears but you can’t prove the connection. Research says you don’t raise the oxygen level significantly just by owning a houseplant, especially if the windows open anyway. A few studies have found that classroom greenery has improved children’s learning and wellbeing. Some sources suggest that houseplants absorb traces of toxic chemicals from your air.
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Whatever the bedroom jungle did or did not do, it gave my sons joy and it gave them something to nurture. Joy is untidy and living things never stick with the plan. There were spills of soil and water and a littering of broken leafage on the carpet. There were crawlies in the soil and spiders under the leaves. There were two children proud of their accomplishments in horticulture and fiercely defensive of their chosen bedroom décor. Their plants were friends. Herbs, succulents, even cactuses—each had their own individuality and each became an emotional attachment. 

I’m going to go out on a limb here and argue that plants really do make good friends for children.

They’re interactive, at least in the sense of responsiveness to their environment and to how you treat them. There are natural consequences to your actions or inaction. The give-and-take between you and your potted plant may not be on symmetrical terms, but it’s there, and it’s your responsibility to maintain the relationship.
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They’re kind. Once you understand the basic chemistry of life, you know that your plants are contributing their tiny share of oxygen into the world. They add beauty of colour or shape to your environment, and sometimes more. An aloe vera will soothe your bumps and scrapes or a pot of mint will allow you to harvest some of its leaves. 

They’re a positive influence, telling you things you need to know. Not loudly but subliminally: things like Wait, or Give yourself time, or We can recover from injury.
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Not everyone has a garden, and not everyone’s in walking-distance of woodland. But nearly everyone has a windowsill. Carpe peccatum de fenestra*.
 
* “Seize the windowsill” in English. In the spirit of Carpe diem, or “seize the day”, because things written in Latin are generally considered to be inspirational.