Twenty-three years ago, my mom was far from an agriculturist. I know this to be true because she destroyed 96% of the plants that came with our home when we first moved in. The lawns, fern, rose bushes, Callas, Birds of Paradises, a peach tree, and much more that I cannot name were either rooted out or submerged in cement. There was a very stubborn fig tree that persisted through all adversity until one day, my mom poured hot cooking oil over its roots. This fig tree produced such wonderful fruits that I wished for it to triumph. However and unfortunately, it did not persevere. She said it was not worth the water, energy, nor love.
The other 4% remained not because she had mercy, but because it was too willful to let their lives be torn away. Despite not getting the water or love; a triplet of Camellias and tangerine tree managed to thrive through all seasons; resilient and indifferent to all of nature’s bluffs.
Now, my mom is quite contrary to who she was twenty-three years ago. She has grown a green thumb to prove it. And along with her very green thumb, grew an unruly squash kingdom, an assortment of fresh herbs, fruit trees, and my most favorite of all – the Birds Eye Chili plant. It’s not her most lush or biggest plant, but it has an assertion to it. The bright red coat that it wears is what I love most. It shines brilliantly without the help of electricity and the radiance demands your attention even in the sunlight.