It’s an unremarked rite of passage, a day of no fixed urgency that comes when it comes, and it comes for most of us: the smallest promise, a nudge toward being here. It’s the day you bring home your first succulent.
[Clockwise from top left: 1950s sheer green plant dress from dustysociety; Antique enamel picture frame from Neatcurios; Cholla cactus logs from theDesertStop; Mid Century footed planter from TheVinton; Discontinued Jovan Grass Oil aftershave from eColognes; Quart bag of live moss from teresab123; Vintage woven grass tray from RetrospectiveOrange.]
Peer intently at those tiny plump clumps in their plastic trays, a couple bucks each. Consider possible groupings, the tall one next to the string of pearls next to the one that looks like a brain; consider small vessels and where the light comes in.
[Clockwise from top left: Birch hooks (set of three) from vermontbranchcompany; Vintage Napier mushroom pin from terrysgotit; Antique German botanical poster from LeTrip; Wooden cactus sculpture from illkniterate; Hand carved sterling silver ring from ScarlettJewelry; Basket weave straw slippers from vintageshoescloset; Prickly pear vintage planter from TheRustyChicken; Round leaf pin from TangoMouseandMe; Banana leaf barrette from TheRustyChicken; Gold-dipped rose leaves from RebeccasVGVintage.]
When the dwarf citrus falls over on the way home, swallow your concern and remember this taste, the strange metallic flavor of worry, the confrontation with irrevocable harm. You’ll taste it again, and too soon. Scoop the dirt in your hand and think about how hard it is to find dirt when you need it, about the clumsiness of roots.
[Clockwise from top left: Paper mache snack trays (set of eight) from GhostownBoutique; Floral chiffon 80s scarf from JaysJunque; 1960s daisy fascinator from nbdg; Watercolor vintage high heels from fatspazzy; Bone china vintage cup and saucer from SwirlingOrange11; Seed bead brooch from kiamichi7; English garden pencil skirt and black-and-red tropical cropped jacket from MaryikaVintage; Vintage Kenzo bucket bag from youngandukraine; Red baby’s breath resin bracelet from SpottedDogAsheville.]
What kind of plant would you be, if you were a plant? I’d be a paddle cactus and wear gaudy color once a year, or that oak tree that keeps stretching into the powerlines, threatening to take everything down.
Su Wu of I'm Revolting continues to compile a list of the things, places and misinterpreted philosophies that somehow manage to coalesce into a well-lived life. These narrative-driven collections will find you stealing out of your alternate personas' closets.