离家读大学后，最想念的就是家里那个长长的院子，爸妈在里面种了各式各样的花花草草。从春天枝头吐出第一缕嫩芽到深秋时节落叶飘零，院子里就陆续开满了迎春花、月季、牡丹、芍药……除此之外，还有樱桃树、石榴树、无花果以及满满一架遮盖了整个院子上空的葡萄树。这个小小的院子里的各色花草，经由爸妈的悉心照料，在不同的时节释放出不同的芬芳，绽放出不同的色彩。朵朵蕴情，片片含意。
于是，多少个想家的夜晚，思念的除了是远方的亲人之外，就是那株株亦有情的花花草草了。
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My aunts, mom and grandma always talk about their plants when they get together. 1)Coleus, 2)bougainvillea, 3)snow-on-the-mountain, 4)wandering Jew, 5)violets, 6)agapanthus, 7)Johnny-jump-ups, 8)poor-man’s-orchid, 9)spider. They trade cuttings, smuggling them over state lines, to 10)propagate at home. They discuss their plants like children or pets. They share tips, and compare progress.
我的姨妈、母亲和外祖母聚在一块儿的时候，总是谈论她们种的花花草草。锦紫苏、九重葛、银边翠、水竹草、紫罗兰、百子莲、三色堇、平民兰和醉蝶花，她们交换各种插条，跨州运送它们，为的是让它们在自己家里繁殖。她们像谈论孩子和宠物那样谈论她们的植物。她们分享种植的窍门，比较各自植物的生长进度。
We turn plants into sentimental objects as we do with books and art, but with plants it’s different because they’re alive. They grow and change. You see photographs of your former apartment, and there’s that lily, half its present size. It’s like looking at old family pictures: “Look how little you used to be!” Plants have a history and a life. That’s why they’re so hard to give up, even when you don’t love them anymore, even when you don’t have room for them. What are you supposed to do, just let them die? Impossible!
我们把植物看成是有感情的事物，就像对待书和艺术一样，但植物的不同之处在于它们有生命。它们生长着，改变着。你看你以前那间公寓的照片时，那株百合花也在上面，只有现在的一半高。那就如同在看家里的老照片：“你那时多小啊！”植物也有历史，有生活经历。那就是为什么即使你已不再爱它们，即使你已没有多余的空间种植它们的时候，你都难以舍弃他们。你准备怎么做？眼睁睁让它们死去？不可能！
When recently I had to move everything out of my house, I realized there were more little plants than I was willing to find places for in my new cramped 11)quarters. I thought, it’d be silly to feel sentimental about these plants. I could replace them later if I wanted. Yet, I just couldn’t give up the 12)succulent I kept alive during my first year of teaching.
最近，当我不得不把所有东西搬出我的房子时，我意识到我的植物太多了，很难在我拥挤的新家里腾出位置来安放他们。我当时想，为这些植物感到伤感是很傻的。如果我喜欢，我以后可以新栽一些来代替它们。然而，我就是无法抛弃这些我在教学生涯第一年种植的肉质植物。
It sat on top of a microwave oven, in a tiny, dark, cold office space that was really a storage closet with a window. During the times I thought I might lose my mind, I watched the plant’s health. It refused to wither. It stood hardy and strong, and occasionally sprung a tender new leaf. Sometimes I would forget to water it, or take it home during vacations, but it withstood this neglect, and stubbornly lived on. This 13)buoyed my spirit more than chocolate or pats on the back.
它就平放在一台微波炉上面，在办公室的一个小而黑的冷清角落里，那里实际上就是一个带窗的储存柜。在那段我以为我可能会失去理智的时间里，我照看这株植物健康生长。它拒绝枯萎。它勇敢而坚强地挺立着，时而长出一片新的嫩叶。有时，我会忘记给它浇水，或者忘记在休假时带它回家，但它在我的疏忽中挺了过来，顽强地活着。这对我精神的激励，胜过巧克力或别人在我背上轻拍的抚慰。
Our adopted 14)foliage can serve as a sort of 15)bellwether for our lives. Most of us have gone through periods where we let the phone ring, the dishes pile up, and the houseplants 16)shrivel. Eventually, the pile of brittle leaves forces us to assess the state of our lives. Of course, because we have sentimentalized our plants, it’s tempting to read their lives, like tea leaves, for clues to our own. Once, when a relationship was dying, my African violet exploded with unseasonable purple flowers. Maybe, I thought, there’s hope. There was—for the violet.
我们栽培的植物可以成为我们生活的一种引导者。我们大多数人都曾经试过不接电话、不洗盘碗，任由室内的植物枯萎。最终，一簇簇脆弱的叶子迫使我们正视自己的生活状态。当然，因为我们赋予自己的植物以人情，我们热衷于从植物的生命中读出自己的人生启示，就像用残余杯底的茶叶来占卜一样。有一次，当我的一段恋情眼看就要结束的时候，我的非洲紫罗兰绽放出朵朵不合时节的紫色花。我想，也许还有希望——至少对于紫罗兰来说是这样。
My step-mom visits a particular 17)hemlock in a park near her home every New Year’s Day. She walks circles around its trunk, one hand on the bark, releasing regrets from the old year and planning for the new one. Her own history and life are now intertwined with the hemlock’s, as year after year, the tree receives her hopes, and 18)ushers them forth with fresh oxygen. “Here you go,” it says. “Here’s some more life.”
每年元旦，我的继母都会去她家附近的公园里看同一棵铁杉。她绕着它的树干转圈，一只手按在树皮上，诉说着过去一年的遗憾和未来一年的计划。现在，她自己的历史和生命与那棵铁杉交缠在一起。年复一年，铁杉收集了她的希冀，并通过清新的氧气将它们重新释放出来。铁杉仿佛在说：“来啊，这里生命常新。”
