The previous attempts in my life to become an avocado parent failed spectacularly for whatever reason, so when I decided to try one more time I didn’t really think much of it. I was just trying to make damn good fresh guacamole, but somewhere between slicing into a supermarket avocado and scooping out its green buttery glory, I made eye contact with the seed.
It looked at me.
I looked at it.
And just like that, I became a mother all over again.
Step 1: Birth pains
The first thing you need to know about growing an avocado tree from seed is that it’s less “gardening” and more “weird aquatic hostage situation.” You start with water torture, i.e. suspend the seed over a glass of water with toothpicks, like some kind of tiny medieval device, and wait for “root action.”
I named my seed Brian because “Brian” sounded like someone who might need gentle encouragement and occasional pep talks. Every day I’d come into the kitchen and say, “Morning, Brian. Doing great, sweetie. Keep pushing through.” The jury is still out on this helped the plant or just unsettled the cats and whatever ghosts haunt my kitchen midnight and 3:00am. Thankfully, Brian does not talk back, but he does tend to sway awkwardly, which made me wonder whether he was dipping into the wine after hours.
Step 2: The Toddler Years
After six weeks, Brian finally sprouted a root, and I hate to admit that I actually did a kitchen dance of joy and celebrated my plant child’s first milestone! Then the stem emerged, tiny leaves unfurling like Brian was waving hello. I upgraded him from his “water birth” into a pot of soil, a monumental step in any plant-parent relationship. A few people asked why I didn’t just buy a plant. I told them: “You don’t just buy a Brian. You raise a Brian.” And as I walk through The Shire, I feel as though I finally earned the nod of approval from the ancient avocado trees growing around the area.
Step 3: Indoor Plant Parenting 101
Brian now lives on my sunny windowsill. I water him every other day during this heatwave and occasionally dust his leaves with the same care one might use to polish fine silverware. Like any good parent of the digital age, I’ve learned:
- Avocado trees grow slowly, so patience is key.
- Brian likes indirect sunlight and constant reassurance that he’s special (because he’s not needy or anything).
- Talking to him is optional, but I do it anyway, although he will also accept the internet nanny if I am not in the mood.
Step 4: Will Brian Ever Give Me Grandvocados?
Here’s the hard truth: growing an avocado tree indoors from a seed is a bit like raising a cat and expecting it to learn how to play the violin. Technically possible? Yes. Realistically? Don’t hold your breath. Experts say it could take five to thirteen years for Brian to produce fruit, if at all. Which means he’s basically the freeloading adult child who eats all your snacks but never pays rent. Honestly? I’m fine with that. I’m not in this for the guacamole anymore, but am entirely invested in the emotional connection.
Step 5: Lessons from Brian
- Patience is a virtue (and also a survival skill in plant parenting).
- Love doesn’t have to be reciprocated in the form of avocados.
- Every indoor plant deserves a name, even if it’s “Sharon the Succulent” or “Gary the Fern.”
Brian might never give me fruit, but he’s given me something more valuable: the sense of accomplishment that comes from keeping a green thing alive for longer than a basil plant.
At this point I have to reveal that Brian II is close behind, and Brian III and IV are currently in their water torture stages. Am I compensating for only having one biological human child? Maybe, but they seem to get along with the other fosters I have around the house, although I did have to have the boundaries talk with the kittens. So when people ask, “Is that an avocado tree?” I can nod proudly and say, “Yes. That’s my son, Brian.”
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