Write about growing something.
My house used to be filled with plants. Trailing ones, spiky cactuses, timid violets, and an ivy for every occasion, some reaching floor to ceiling. Then I had to go away for work for a number of weeks. The house and my beloved plants were entrusted to my nearest and dearest. All that was required was a little water every other day. No more, no less especially no less. On return it looked like a massacre had occurred. Dead and dying plants everywhere. Apparently the only one he had remembered to water was in the bathroom … which was plastic.