The Strange Thing That Happens When You Turn 40

You'll never guess what it is . . .

One day, if you haven’t already, you’ll find yourself staring down the prospect of the big 4-0. This particular birthday is viewed by some as a milestone. A mid way-ish point. An age by which you hope to have accomplished a few things. A great reason for a party.

But something else happens upon your 40th birthday. Something you’ll never see coming. Something that hits you with a smack of, “yep, I’m officially in a new life era.” Something I wish someone had prepared me to expect.

You become a plant lady.

Laugh it off, if you must. Swear it off, if you must. But I’m here to tell you from personal experience, it will happen. Ask any of your 40+ friends. They will concur. And guess what? It happens even if you’ve had no prior interest in plants and don’t even know how to keep one alive. In this instance, your brain automatically shifts to learning mode based on necessity because you are now in your fifth decade of life.

Here’s how it happens.

In preparation for the big 4-0, you’ll take the unusual step of purchasing your “forever home” so you can check that box as a goal achieved. Upon moving in, you’ll start surveying the land. You’ll notice that the landscape is not at all what you thought your “forever” yard would look like. You’ll lament to a friend, who is not a plant lady herself (yet) but has a spouse who is all in on landscaping. She’ll connect you two so she can stop hearing about your and his landscaping woes.

You’ll start exchanging texts with your new best plant pal about ideas and placement and gardening. He will connect you with his landscape artist who will design your dream yard (and just happens to have an adorable Australian accent). But the Aussie is super busy and will not arrive for weeks.

In the meantime, you’ll talk to your sisters about what sort of an oasis you’d like to make of the backyard. One of them, having recently gotten into the works of Truman Capote, will suggest you need a special spot by the pool just for swans, a/k/a moms. A “swan space,” if you will. She cares zero percent about your plant ideas, but knows they will elevate the beauty of your surroundings while you both are laying by the pool, so she listens.

Still waiting on the Aussie, you’ll take to Pinterest and Instagram, trying to envision what kind of landscaping you enjoy while simultaneously realizing that you know nothing about landscaping. You notice that brick planters strike your fancy. You also purchase a couple of planting pots in the shape of swans.

"These are perfect for my swan space," you tell yourself.

You call a brick mason and tell him your make-shift vision. You’d like a brick planter about three feet high that spans the length of your pool, plus all the pathways and pool deck lined in brick. (Remember, Pinterest.) He tells you a steep price. Despite recently swearing off material things, you come around to the deal and get your spouse to do the same. Work begins.

In a matter of days, you come home to ten plus men working on your ill-conceived brick ideas. You see concrete footers being laid deep beneath ground level and wonder if you’ve gone too far. You share updates to your plant pal, who eggs you on with memes depicting excitement.

You almost give up on the busy Aussie but also surmise why he’s in such demand—it means he’s the best. You order up some “test plants” from the internet. You have no regard for zones or sun/shade preferences or the fact that you have no irrigation to water these plants.

The brick is completed. It’s everything you envisioned but also it is a logistical nightmare thinking about how you will fill that massive pool planter with dirt. A man with a huge truck drops a massive pile on your driveway. Your three-year-old son feels like he’s hit the jackpot of dreams. He pulls long hours on the driveway in his tractor, sans effectiveness. You again question your planter idea.

The internet plants come. You’ve managed a touch of actual research about placement. You realize you’ve been overly ambitious thinking you’ll grow hydrangeas in Florida. You place them near the house and pray.

You swear to water them every single day. You enlist the help of your children. You get it done, save a few days missed here and there. All of a sudden, you realize success. Big hydrangeas….in Florida?! Your confidence grows.

The Aussie arrives to tell you that he will design your perfect landscape but you must invest in irrigation or it will all be for nothing. You weren’t expecting this cost but also see his point. After a steep quote and rigorous design process, plants are ordered and irrigation install scheduled.

You realize you don’t know half of what the Aussie is talking about when he speaks “plant” with you, so you begin looking up various terms. You google words like variegated and pittosporum. You also find yourself checking the weather daily. You smile when you receive pics from your plant pal of adorable children harvesting tomatoes, but you also become envious of the fact that you’ve got nothing but a couple of hydrangeas to date.

On your regular Costco trip, something new catches your eye: potted hydrangeas. Since you’re a pro, you decide to invest in a couple of plants for your front porch. You put two large pots in your Costco cart and squish your regular drinks and snacks and meat and cheese all around the prize plants. The Costco hydrangea plants are dead in four days, but you are undeterred because your backyard hydrangeas are still alive and well.

The Aussie brings a massive plant delivery to fill the whole back planter. It legitimately feels like Christmas. You text your plant pal, who sends another excitement meme. With the help of your innocent yet supportive husbo, you get them all planted and watered. And you realize: the Aussie really is a genius. But you find yourself having to go out of town when it’s 90+ degrees outside and your irrigation is not yet installed.

You enlist your sisters to water the plants in your absence, giving very specific instructions and expecting them to be half followed. After all, before three months ago, you’d have blown the details off too. The sisters reluctantly show up. They feel pressure to keep your new plants alive. You return to your plants alive and well. Irrigation gets installed. You marvel in the fact that you can water your plants from your phone.

You’ve never been a morning person, but now you are spending the early hours with your plants, sipping coffee while inspecting, admiring, and worrying. You are interested in writings on gardening like this one from

Kuleigh Baker

of

Overbooked Mama

on Substack and this one by Dana G. Smith reporting from Zone 8a for the New York Times. You take special notice of the gardens and landscape while traveling. Your ears perk when a random man at a basketball game declares that his wife is at a plant sale. You display a healthy level of disgust when a respected family member demonstrates complete ignorance for watering restrictions. Your Pinterest feed is full of beautiful backyards (algos) and you love it. Although you aren’t quite ready for a Pinterest-worthy “backyard reveal,” you’ll get there in time.

You have officially become a plant lady. That’s ok. It’s a right of passage. Be proud when your daughter spots a boxwood in public. Relish in the beauty of your plants, your time for reflection while gardening, and others who share this affliction affection.

As Katharine Graham (once the owner and publisher of The Washington Post) reflected in her autobiography, Personal History:

“It’s dangerous when you are older to start living in the past. Now that it’s out of my system, I intend to live in the present, looking forward to the future.”

As you order up some more plants, you’ll realize the practice of gardening embodies these sentiments. It forces you to live in the present. Your phone is of little value (except for education and watering from afar). It takes practice and patience and maybe even a little luck. It takes a high level of nurturing, and for whatever reason, you’re in the phase of life to be able to give that. With each new day comes new growth. Look forward to tomorrow, because that next bloom is just around the corner.

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