These sad little air plant corpses are the latest victims in the long line of casualties that has made up my horticultural career. The time has come to admit to myself (and to all of you), that I, Jennifer Hunter, am a plant killer.
I can't begin to list all my fatalities, especially since most of them weren't around long enough to make much of an impression. I know that there was once an orchid (oh, my naiveté to imagine I could pull that off), an herb garden that quickly bit the dust, and some very unlucky lucky bamboo. I remember an especially hardy cactus that stuck around for a while, until it too succumbed to my curse — that's right, I'm less nurturing than a desert. And now I've managed to kill a plant that can actually survive on air itself (but apparently not my air).
I don't know why my thumb is so black; I grew up on a farm for goodness sake, but I think it's time to admit that plants just aren't my gift. Maybe that's a skill in and of itself — knowing when to accept defeat. That time for me was probably many years ago, but I'm doing it now. I'll still bring plants into my home, but I won't be surprised or disappointed when they croak. I'll focus my energy and attention on things I can control instead of getting frustrated by something I can't.