I have a love affair with air plants. They require no soil, no special food. They ask very little, other than for the correct sun exposure and a weekly watering. What they give in return is raw beauty.
Each weekend, I gather them together at my kitchen sink and gently shower them. Similar to what they would experience in a rain forest, they are accustomed to the dousing and are designed with little crevices to hold the water during dry spells. I allow them the luxury of a soaking for 20 minutes and a brief drying period prior to returning them to their happy place.
That place began on my kitchen window sill above the sink. The morning sun and indirect light was just right and they were thriving. I was surprised to see some of them develop a deep purple flower, and have since learned that this happens only once in their lifetimes. I have also seen them produce a growth which soon matches the original plant. I separate them and each flourishes on its own.
As I collected more air plants—some purchased, some gifted—I began to place them in small decorative vases, part of a monthly collection that once belonged to my uncle. Apparently, I was not the only one intrigued by the sight of these beauties. I began to find them missing from the sill and when searching for them, discovered the remnants in a corner or in the basement. Our cat was jumping on the counter, snatching said plants, and sharing them with my dog. Some I was able to nurture back to health; others were too far gone. It feels like a death to me.
So, I decided to place the vases and plants in a decorative wooden cabinet, hung on the wall above the counter near the window. But, alas, my determined cat will not be deterred.
As with all things, I recognize the ebb and flow, the life and death, the beauty and the beast. I do my best to protect and nurture; some things are out of my control.