My dear Plant Krant Reader,
There is a story that needs to be told.
A story you may have heard passing through town.
About a secret we plants hold close.
There is a need for answers, but for that we will need to take you back to the beginning.
To the place we’ve grown up.
I remember it as a dark place, hidden away in a corner where bugs crawled across our soil. Where the windows chose which plants were to get a ray of sunlight and creatures that wandered around with one task; too taking care of us. But they didn't do that.
They found us too fragile, too small, not good enough, and started to ignore us until we were forgotten. We were too young to understand what was happening to us, but we could feel the sadness grow in the heaviness of our leaves. It ate us up until our greens were so heavy that they would stick to the ground giving us no place to escape. But then, there was a woman with a night blue owl on her shoulder.
Brown hair waving through the wind, her pink shoes dancing with the grass, twirling around the trees with leaves crisp green. The owls feathers brushed against her face as they flew up with the breeze to dance with her. Colors surrounded them, and their eyes filled with wonder and love landed on us. They were the first to see us, even though the world tried to hide our existence. The owl flew high, picked up a stone, flew to the window and broke it, allowing the sunrays to finally find their way to us. The woman told the colors around her to grab us and flow out to their home. A warmth picked us up, letting the outside air greet us, allowing the sounds of leaves rustling, birds singing their songs to reach our senses and bring us to a place of comfort.
A little while later the woman and the owl came to the house where we were waiting with the colors. They took us in, cared for our broken roots, hanging leaves and gave us a space to explore. They waited patiently for us to get strong enough before they would bring us to a place full of creatures that carried the same brightness as they did.
‘The creatures you see wandering here are storytellers,’ said the woman, ‘They are just like you, growing and looking for a place in this world. For them it's the search for a story they have to tell, a search for what they need to give this story to grow. I brought you here to show you there are places you can be loved and be given what you need. Therefore I will leave you here so they can show you that. And so you can help them find their way to their stories.’ The woman said as she and the owl turned to leave us behind. But then they stopped.
‘Before we leave, I have a question for you, Dot and Pluk. To look after these little ones. I know you took care of them before we’ve found you, and know you will do that now. We have helped them to grow stronger than they were before, but this new place will be scary, and I wish for them to have a space of comfort to go to.’
Quickly after that they left, leaving us with you. In a town where sunlight will find us with care, and where your words would flow into what it is you have to say, and most of all what it needs to grow big. It's a journey so delicate and yet so heavy to embark on, but filled it with experiences we crafted together.
Like the moment I lost my leaf by an unknown being. The party we held when all the caregivers were on holiday. A snowman you all built so high and for us the first time we had ever experienced snow. Frits that almost died of lack of water. But also a moment of sorrow, the infestation of the flying dots.
The ones that laid eggs in our soils, that flew through our leaves and with time took Dot and Pluk from us. They left us, leaving us in a hollow pit, where the sunshine couldn’t find us again and the coldness that ate us up for a moment in time. It was hard to set sail again, for this journey to go on without them, but we had to and they would have wanted us to. So you came to us, gave us water, seated us at the window where the sun greeted us again, and slowly we grew our new leaves.
Frits grew bigger and stronger then we could have ever imagined. The caregivers of Dot and Pluk found their way around it and took care of other plants. I grew a new leaf, small but strong. Klei Kabouters that came to live in our little town. But the thing that stood out for us as plants were you, the writers, our caregivers. You found a voice, or some sort of beginning to what you have to say in this world. You might think we have come into your lives as plants in need of attention and care, which is still true, but we were also a reminder for you. To show up for yourself, for us, your ideas, and stories and to give them what they need to grow big. And you did just that. Your projects have become more you with the tools you gathered and let it become the best it could. But now it's time for you to let it go, give your work to the world and dare to let it off your chest. Because, my dear writer, your work is not you. This world needs our work to roam this earth, with greens, roots and all the air we have to give, but therefore you have to take a step back and let it go.
That's why now I will share our secret, because with all this knowledge you have now you will understand what I am going to tell next.
A week ago the lovely woman called Juliet and the Owl (who was in their past a mighty wizard {but died and respawned as an owl with better wishes}) called Mick, came back to the town. To see how we were doing, and you the writers. They saw the growth we have made. The home we created in a small place and the works you have made. They knew it was time.
‘Our lovely plants,’ Mick said, ‘What have you grown, all that you have experienced, that you have accomplished, helped these writers and the leaves that have sprouted show me that you are ready to go.
Ready to go onto your next adventure.’
We never intended to stay here for ever, although now we wished we could. But we have grown because of you, and need to set sail to a new adventure. To see other parts of the world and grow from there. Therefore we want to ask you for one last thing.
To find us a new owner, here on St. Joost. A creature that we can guide in their creative world (and they guide us). But before you do that, we would love to take something you have with us, as a reminder of you and how far we already have come.
We thank you for all you have done for us, the love and care you have given and the memories we created together.
We will miss you, but never forget you.
With love from,
The plants and me
Trui Phylodendron.
