Potted Plant Lament

My Gerber daisy plant was the first to go. It was a red daisy in a red pot, the happiest looking flower I'd ever seen. It wilted in my apartment two days after my mom gave it to me. I kept thinking maybe it would perk up. Three days later the wilted daisy turned from red to brown. Gerber daisies are hard to keep, said my mom, try violets. The violets died within the week.

Over winter break my mom bought me an aloe plant to take back to New York. Aloe grows in the desert, so naturally it needs very little water. Even still, days after I took it back to my apartment the leaves started to droop. The only reason the plant survived until the spring was because my friend and designated plant-caretaker Michelle lives only six floors below me. Good thing too, because the aloe gel came in handy two weeks before school let out. (Note to self: Wear sunscreen to sit by Hudson River. Water reflects sunlight.)

When the farmer asked me why I wanted to work on his farm this summer, I told him I'm an Environmental Studies major at NYU, and I’m interested in sustainable agriculture. He asked if I had any experience with farming. I told him I worked in a soup kitchen once, which isn’t exactly a farm, but at least it was food-related. You’re hired, he said.

New York City is only two hours away but it is as far from the farm as possible. When I visited the farm for the first time, the farmer commented on how the transition from the city might be difficult. Now it's only two days until I start working there, and I can’t stop wondering if I’ll be able to love both places, even though they’re opposites. Maybe that’s a contradiction. But then again, so is a farming intern who can’t grow a potted plant.