For
my birthday last year, I received a lovely Christmas cactus. I’ve admired the
pretty plants for many years and have even given them to friends and family for
gifts. To be honest, though, I did very little research on how to keep this
little jewel blooming. My spring and summer found me focused on the large jade
(also a Christmas gift) that became root bound in a too small pot. The jade barely
survived its trauma, and its small salvaged leaves still need attentive care.
As
Thanksgiving nears, I wondered why my Christmas cactus’s lush green leaves didn’t
have a single bud to hint at the blossoms it bore last year. A quick round of
research led me to the amazing find that my small plant needs twelve to
fourteen hours of darkness! Its perch in my bathroom, surrounded by subtle
light all day long, would never become dark enough. The large, ceiling high
windows that brighten our living room, kitchen, and family room means those
rooms never go to pitch. A quick inspection of each room left me with the small
area we converted years ago that’s now used for art projects. I found an old
metal folding chair, draped an even older kitchen towel to drape over it, and
created the perfect nightly perch for my Christmas cactus.
Each evening, I carry my cactus into this inky
pitch. I know that the time spent in darkness should be closer to six weeks
than the four I have before Christmas arrives, but I’ll be happy to see
blossoms whenever they appear. A huge part of me wonders if this new ritual
becomes my daily reminder that my own sense of loss and despair, my own hours
enveloped within darkness, will result in my own resilience and growth.
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| Into the darkness |
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| Hopeful daily perch |
Copyright 2024 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
