The Secret Life of Plants
In early March, we longed for the sun—and we received an icy, knifelike wind. The high was 41, yet an unsettling number of men in shorts walked among us. It was impossible, as it is every year, to choose the Right Coat; there was only the Wrong Coat, in which we either froze or sweat. For these reasons (and many, many more), it is one of my most deeply held beliefs that early spring…just…shouldn't.
There is no solve other than patience, but there are certainly tactics, and one of mine is distraction (there's a reason "spring cleaning” is a thing). So while riding out the final few weeks of Seasonal Affective Disorder 2025—and in lieu of all things green and growing, blooming and beautiful—I added The Secret Life of Plants to my read/listen/watch lists.
A paperback copy of the book has been sitting on my shelf since 2021; I'd picked it up from the "free" pile at the library because I recognized the name. It's why that whole “plants love music” idea became widespread, and it lays down evidence that plants have feelings, can read our minds, and are capable of receiving messages from outer space.
Does the science hold up? We can safely assume that it does not. But is it readable? Also no. The first hundred pages almost exclusively feature men around the world fiddling with various types of tape recorders, and while some are delightfully and earnestly unhinged, others fall more on the “I'm gonna see if my plant reacts to ~ sex stuff ~” side of the equation. It should have been a blast! And I'm sure it was (in 1973).
I first listened to the Stevie Wonder album when it was written about as an inspiration behind Solange’s When I Get Home (she name-checked it in nearly every interview at the time). Vibe-y and lovely, it's the soundtrack to a 1979 documentary based on the book, and his follow-up album to Songs in the Key of Life. People at the time did NOT like it, unless they really, really did, and that contingent grew up to be Questlove, so it's hard to argue that they were not on the right side of history.
The documentary and soundtrack were released together, and yes! A nature documentary having a Stevie-Wonder-sized budget is baffling. The film begins with earth's conception and takes some detours through our aforementioned pseudoscience; many, many time-lapse flowers unfurl. Stevie Wonder himself is actually in it at the end, rowing a boat through lily pads, walking along what appears to be the base of an active volcano, and singing the title song on a rock between two waterfalls. “Outside My Window” accompanies footage of happy people tending to and talking about their gardens, and “Black Orchid” soundtracks a dreamy little dance break that blooms in a city park.
Aesthetically it is very 1979, not unlike when Mister Rogers visited the crayon factory, early Sesame Street, and 3-2-1 Contact (formative PBS-based media, all). In that sense, it was a balm. Otherwise, the laboratory interiors are all incredible, they do an excellent job of curating the Very Best Parts of the book, and it is perfectly calibrated to be watched with 2–5mg of THC (delivery method of your choosing).
I may or may not have sold you on it, but it's available to watch in full here. The audio cuts out a handful of times (likely for copyright reasons); you can hear traces of The Beatles' “Here Comes the Sun” during one otherwise silent part, which once again begs the question of budget. I've been googling this for two weeks. There are no answers. It's best not to think about it.
And so. This little project got me through to mid-March. The sun is shining; the knifelike winds have ceased. It is a testament to the efficacy of my D3 supplement—and yes, perhaps also to the regenerative power of a plant-based syllabus—that hopefulness abounds. The downside? A strong sense of unearned vindication among the men in shorts. They are reveling in 60º weather; their flip-flops have already entered the chat. We really do hate to see it.
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