The Last Word On Nothing

In June I spent a few days in the suburbs just east of Oceanside, California. (I actually just dedicated five minutes to figuring out whether it was actually Oceanside or Carlsbad, or Encintas, or Lake San Marcos, but we stayed in a nondescript chain hotel — a Hampton Inn? a Holiday Inn? a Marriott? — and all I remembered was that it was next to a Home Depot, of which there are also a zillion, so I gave up on searching.) Everything around us was connected by perfectly paved four- to six-lane roads, with few sidewalks and no pedestrians. One morning I’d gotten up at 5am and decided to take a walk, and the only option I could identify was a little neighborhood right across the street from the hotel. I walked up the hill, savoring the quiet and appreciating the plants we don’t have up here in Seattle: birds of paradise, palms, succulents galore. The houses were enormous and mostly looked the same; I expected the interiors to look something like the inside of a Cheesecake Factory. There were Mercedes and BMWs in the driveways.

I saw this sign in a garden alongside echeveria and aloe. I’ve heard the platitude before, I could not stop thinking about it.

Yes, make the most of what you have — bloom where you’re planted! But damn, blooming sure is harder depending on where you’re planted. I learned to grow plants — mostly succulents — in the years I lived in California, and when I transplanted my little babies up to Seattle they shriveled and died within months. Guess they didn’t get the memo about blooming where you’re planted; maybe they should have tried harder. As I completed my loop of the neighborhood, I noticed a few other signs, too: a “Let’s go Brandon” bumper sticker on a very nice SUV, a Trump 2024 sign outside a house I’d guess is worth at least $1.5 million. Bloom where you’re planted, but if those with power and money perceive you to be the kind who Shouldn’t Be Planted Here, then maybe go bloom somewhere else.