I grew up in a house filled with flowers and greenery: there were dozens and dozens of plants around the place and as far as I can remember, fresh flowers of some description around the house each week. For a while, my mum worked in a florists and my dad has always been a keen gardener so the flowers either came from the garden (in season) or via my mum’s job. Plants and flowers felt like home.
Needless to say, I’ve always tried to replicate this in my post-home living situations. When I moved out into my first student house, I took a bunch of daffodils from the garden to christen my new vase in my new room and I’ve always tried (wherever possible) to have green-facing windows (to the trees in the cemetery in the flat in Liverpool to the trees in the park now). Living here, I’ve always tried to fill the house with plants and I get sad everyone time one dies after failing to survive the cave-like conditions we face (hurrah for being north-facing). We’ve still managed to keep a few though: some leafy green ones in the kitchen, along with a rubber plant and some cactus-wannabes; some actual cactuses in the living room; and some orchids and Trevor, a yukka type plant that Katherine gave me for my birthday this year in the bathroom.
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