I love African violets.
And I appear to be very good at killing them.
This is not intentional. I do not wake up in the morning thinking, “How can I slowly dehydrate a sentimental houseplant today?” And yet, here we are.
There’s one on my counter right now. Droopy. Dramatic. Slightly offended. The soil was bone dry this morning. I try to do everything right — bright indirect light, special soil that literally says “African Violet” on the bag, careful watering — and still, they collapse like Victorian heroines.
The thing is, I really do love them.
They were in the greenery at my wedding. My grandmother grew them effortlessly. Her house always had blooms. Mine has… potential.
February is my birth month, and the birth flowers are violets and primroses. I fell down the floriography rabbit hole after watching The Lost Flowers of Alice Hart. The idea that flowers carry meaning fascinates me.
Violets symbolize faithfulness. Modesty. Devotion.
Primroses, the other February birth flower, mean young love and new beginnings — which feels optimistic for a month that still feels like winter.
Which feels ironic when I cannot faithfully keep one hydrated.
Traditional violets won’t grow in my Zone 10A garden. It’s too hot. African violets are supposed to work indoors here. Supposed to.
But here’s what I’m starting to realize.
Maybe this isn’t about being bad at plants.
Maybe it’s about conditions.
Terracotta pot. Fast-draining soil. Florida air conditioning. A plant that wants consistency. And me, trying to “do everything right” instead of just observing and adjusting.
So today, instead of declaring myself unfit for violet ownership, I set the pot in a shallow bowl of water and let it drink from the bottom like a civilized plant.
And I made a decision.
If I cannot reliably grow my birth flowers, I will stitch them.
Thread doesn’t wilt. Linen doesn’t droop. A stitched violet will not collapse because I misjudged a watering schedule.
I recently rediscovered the February violet pattern by Ellen Maurer-Stroh. It’s delicate and beautiful and perfectly behaved. I can finish it. I can frame it. I can hang it on my wall.
Some things won’t flourish in the soil we have.
But that doesn’t mean we don’t get to keep them.
If this African violet perks up tomorrow, I’ll be delighted.
If it doesn’t, I’ll try again.
And either way, I’m stitching the flowers.