The Accidental Audit

When I decided to start selling, I thought I was organizing inventory.

What I didn’t realise…was that I was about to audit my entire existence as a plant collector.

From a distance, everything looked fine.

I water. I rotate. I admire dramatically with coffee in hand.

Surely everything was thriving.

And then I started pulling pots off benches.

The Archaeological Phase

There is something deeply humbling about lifting a tray you haven’t moved in a while.

I discovered I apparently collect dried leaves as well as agaves.

I found a plant so buried in offsets it had started its own postcode.

I uncovered labels that had faded into abstract art.

I found one pot that I’m fairly certain hasn’t been repotted since a different government was in power.

Nothing catastrophic. Nothing tragic.

Just… quiet signs that “routine” is not the same thing as “attention.”

That line hit me harder than I expected.

Because I wasn’t neglecting my collection. I was maintaining it.

And maintenance can quietly turn into autopilot.

The Gentle Wake-Up Call

Plants don’t decline dramatically overnight. They whisper first.

A root ball that’s tighter than it should be. A potting mix that’s tired. A lower leaf that’s been “on my to-do list” for longer than I care to admit.

Life gets busy. Benches fill. New additions arrive (because obviously). And suddenly the back row becomes a mystery zone.

It doesn’t make you a terrible gardener.

It makes you human.

And apparently… slightly overconfident about your potting schedule.

The Rediscovery

But here’s the part I didn’t expect.

In the middle of this great clear-out, I picked up a plant I hadn’t really looked at in months.

Haworthia crymbiformis x Obtusa variegata.

I almost didn’t recognize her.

The colours were unreal — soft translucent windows with creamy variegation that glows when the sun hits just right. In full light she absolutely lights up, like she’s holding it.

She was healthy. Perfectly shaped. Balanced. Stunning.

And I had somehow allowed her to fade into background scenery.

That moment stopped me.

How many plants do we stop seeing simply because they’ve been there a while?

Cleaning, trimming, refreshing — it felt less like organising stock and more like falling in love with my collection again.

The Overdue Potting Confession

Yes, there were a few overdue repots.

Nothing dramatic.

But enough that I had to admit…“Next weekend” had become “Next season.”

Refreshing the soil. Dividing offsets. Giving roots space again.

The transformation was immediate.

Plants that had been steady suddenly looked energized. Structure sharpened. Colour deepened.

It was like the whole collection exhaled.

And so did I.

What Selling Actually Did

Starting this site forced me to slow down and inspect every plant properly.

Not a glance. Inspect.

To check roots. To refresh mix. To reassess spacing. To clean benches like someone important was coming over.

And in doing so, the entire collection levelled up.

Not because it was bad before.

But because intention replaced routine.

Selling wasn’t about reducing the collection.

It was about refining it.

It was about rediscovering plants I’d fallen blind to.

It was about turning autopilot off.

The Takeaway

If you’ve been collecting for a while, this will happen.

Benches fill. Plants shuffle backwards. Labels fade. You tell yourself you’ll sort that pot next week.

And nothing explodes.

But every so often, an accidental audit is exactly what you need.

Not because you’ve failed.

But because growth — yours and theirs — benefits from a reset.

I started this thinking I was preparing plants for sale.

What I actually did was clean, sharpen, and fall back in love with my collection.

And honestly?

That might be the best thing that’s happened in years.

Without further delay, here she is, feast your eyes on this beauty.

Haworthia Cymbiformis var. Obtusa f. Variegata

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