Our theme for the month of February is “plants.”

Drawing from my status as a crier of the Wordle gospel, here’s my hot take of the month: people who start with the same word every day do not understand the joy of word games.

Sure, maybe it’s the reason why they’ve gotten the answer in two guesses multiple times. Sure, maybe they have figured out the “optimal” combination of vowels and letters. Sure, maybe it’s the “best” way to play the game. But it sure ain’t fun.

As possibly the smallest stakes form of stunt journalism ever, I’ve spent the past week guessing the same five letter word first (I’ll give you six guesses on what the word could be). I have resented every minute of it except for the day where I got MOIST (#228) in two guesses.

P-L-A-N-T, as far as starting words go, doesn’t have nearly enough vowels. The consonants are somewhat common, a point in its favor, but not nearly to the level of R and S. Its strength lies in eliminating the -NT ending, a fact that has simultaneously helped me (see: last paragraph) and peeved me greatly (see: Alex trying to guess LIGHT).

Wordle 226 5/6*
⬛ 🟨 ⬛ ⬛ 🟩
⬛ ⬛ ⬛ 🟨 🟩
⬛ ⬛ 🟨 🟨 🟩
🟩 🟩 ⬛ ⬛ 🟩
🟩 🟩 🟩 🟩 🟩

Maybe I’m salty about starting this way because I don’t see Wordle so much as a game to win (though you best believe I bragged when I was the only one in the family group chat who got KNOLL [another plant word—see, I’m on theme!] in three guesses) but as a way to play with words. What makes me open up the website every morning is the excitement in trying out a new word. USURP isn’t a very strategic play, but using it makes me feel like a level three English major. After the thrill wears off, I thrive on the mix of Mastermind logic-ing and vocabulary gymnastics that happens around guess three. And, as many other people have noted on Twitter, the little colored “Shared” grids are a fun and low-energy way to check in daily with family and friends: ooo-ing and ah-ing over someone’s lucky guess or silently judging how long it takes them to guess COULD.

Wordle has felt like a game that belonged to the people. Josh Wardle created it to play word games with his partner, a way for them to amuse themselves during a pandemic after exhausting the New York Times crossword and spelling bee. I found the game through a Twitter stranger posting strange grids and spread it to my family, my coworkers, and church-goers; for weeks, my go-to small talk question has been, “Are you playing Wordle?” People have praised the game’s disinterest in turning your attention into money; the website is ad-free, and you only get one puzzle per day. It felt like a glimpse of what the internet could be.

Nothing gold can stay, though.

Wardle announced on Twitter that he has sold Wordle to the New York Times. The general sentiment has been mixed, as NYT will probably eventually put this simple game behind a paywall. The green and yellow tiles will wilt, as all internet fads do, away from social media feeds and group texts, choked out by the weeds of money.

Life, and now Wordle’s time as a free-to-play game, is too short to waste it guessing the same word over and over again. I will not, unlike this random Twitter user, be going back to PLANT until it gets its time in the limelight (or is a particularly good third guess). I harbor no reservations about this decision.

I will instead enjoy this game as I enjoy the day lilies that bloom in my front yard in springtime: with daily delight and full knowledge of its fleeting beauty.

Alex Johnson

Alex Johnson (‘19) is a virtual computer science teacher and a proud resident of Grand Rapids. When she’s not brainstorming the newest project to inflict on her students, she’s cooking semi-vegetarian food, reading too many romance books, and playing rhythm games.