I have to admit I talk to my plants. I greet them in the morning. Hey how are you doing?
I think about my plants, and give them water judiciously. I know, all too well, how too much care, over-focus can make a plant shrivel and die.
I don't consider whether or not my plant hears me. I talk to it because it's a very real thing, an entity in my life that responds to what I do, or don't do.
I read about the a scientific investigation that's going on. It started back in 1914 when scientist Jagadish Chandra Bose, using a forceps, pinched a carrot that was strapped to his examining table and attached to a machine. Bose noted that the machine registered "infinitesimal twitches, starts and tremors," and told the journalists who were writing a about this, "Thus can science reveal the feelings of even so solid a vegetable as the carrot."
Today, in a new book, "What a Plant Knows," by Daniel Chamovitz, (he runs the plant biology lab at Tel Aviv University), the idea of plant intelligence is dismissed as a scientifically useful idea. Chamovitz summed it up: "I don't really think hard-core scientists say that plants are sentient in the way that mammals are, but plant neurobiologists are challenging us to redefine for ourselves what we mean by sentient."
Hey ho, even so, this author admitted that he talks to his plants in his lab, explaining -- "Why? Why do people pray? Why do people talk to God?"
Though plants have yet to weigh in and answer this, I say, yes, plants are sentient -- plants reach to the light -- plants react and grow when you feed them -- plants tell you they're happy (or not happy), about where they're living.
Hey, I can't resist posting Barbara Harris and John Cullum, (my husband), in the Alan J. Lerner musical, "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever." Talking to plants started the Psychiatrist, (John,) helping a girl (the heroine, Barbara), find out who she really was.