Swing In A Tree: propagation

Showing posts with label propagation. Show all posts

Monday, June 2, 2025

"Patience"

Jan 2022

            A few years ago, my well-loved mother-in-law plants grew seriously ill with root rot. My own neglect, not moving them into larger pots and replacing their soil, coupled with letting someone else water them for a few weeks after my knee injury resulted in near disaster! I hurried out for pots with drainage and soil with nutrients. Sitting outside in the shade of the live oak tree, with hose in hand, I separated out the rotten parts. With optimism, the original plants went into new, better homes and the undamaged rhizomes settled into different containers with new soil.  All of them went onto the front porch with dappled sunlight. From my original two plants, I propagated a total of eight possible survivors. By Christmas, they all looked healthy enough that I gave away two as gifts for my sister.
  Six of the plants remained with me, coming inside during winter freezes to sit crowded around the front window. Each week, I’d rotate them to make certain they’d get enough light. To be honest, they snaked into the background of other plants around the house. When we decided to move all of our pothos plants from water jugs up high in the kitchen to pots out in the back yard, I placed my mother-in-law plants back on the front porch with confidence that they’d thrive, and they did!
  Gardening takes patience. One plant, place inside or outside, may take several years to mature. Serenity becomes my companion whenever I putter in the gardens. My persistence, though, grows slowly with each new propagation.

June 2024

Original two plants that suffered root rot now thrive and have six healthy offspring!

June 2025

Six new plants from the original 2!

Saturday, June 8, 2024

“Patience”

Two years ago, my well-loved mother-in-law plants grew seriously ill with root rot. My own neglect, not moving them into larger pots and replacing their soil, coupled with letting someone else water them for a few weeks after my knee injury resulted in near disaster! I hurried out for pots with drainage and soil with nutrients. Sitting outside in the shade of the live oak tree, with hose in hand, I separated out the rotten parts. With optimism, the original plants went into new, better homes and the undamaged rhizomes settled into different containers with new soil. All of them went onto the front porch with dappled sunlight. From my original two plants, I propagated a total of eight possible survivors. By Christmas, they all looked healthy enough that I gave away two as gifts for my sister.

Six of the plants remained with me, coming inside during winter freezes to sit crowded around the front window. Each week, I’d rotate them to make certain they’d get enough light. To be honest, they snaked into the background of other plants around the house. When we decided to move all of our pothos plants from water jugs up high in the kitchen to pots out in the back yard, I placed my mother-in-law plants back on the front porch with confidence that they’d thrive, and they did!

Gardening takes patience. One plant, place inside or outside, may take several years to mature. Serenity becomes my companion whenever I putter in the gardens. My persistence, though, grows slowly with each new propagation.

Jan 2022

June 2024

Tuesday, January 25, 2022

“Root Rot Regrowth”

The redbrick house sat so close to the railroad tracks that it shook whenever a train thundered past. No decorations adorned the walls. No knickknacks sat on the dressers or hutches. No one dared leave a glass on the kitchen counter. At one time, the house belonged to a railroad company for employees to use for overnight stops. Eventually, my great-aunt Helen settled there to take care of her syphilis insane ex-husband . . . but that’s another story.

I loved Aunt Helen’s house because of the porch that covered its front. Wicker chairs, a bench swing, and enormous planters filled with Mother-in-law tongues provided a hideaway for me and my siblings during our visits to League City, Texas. My grandmother, uncle and his family lived next door in a nasty, dysfunctional home. I preferred Aunt Helen’s tales of her wild and reckless youth to the more difficult to understand stories of my grandmother. As a child, I could barely understand a word she said. Later, as an adult, I learned to appreciate the richness of a Cajun cadence.

Aunt Helen taught me to propagate plants. From her, I learned to appreciate separating new growth from the roots. She showed me how to pinch off a philodendron at just the right spot and just how much sunlight it needed to grow in a glass jar. Kneeling in her gardens, I separated bulbs and appreciated the hardiness of the Purple Heart Wandering Jew plant, which thrive in my yard today—grown from clippings from her garden more than fifty years ago.

The Mother-in-law tongue plants became my favorite plants to nurture. I loved everything about them: the green outlined by yellow, the long and slender sword-like leaves. My imagination latched onto their name that alluded to the sharp tip of a mother-in-law’s criticism.

After Aunt Helen died, her plants went to various friends. I inherited one that resided with me in my college apartment. One winter, I negligently left it outside on the porch. It died a horrible, frozen death.

For some reason, many years passed before I purchased two Mother-in-law tongue plants. I fell in love with it all over again! This time, I made certain to bring them in each winter. Once the plants crowded in their pots, I’d repot them into a slightly larger container, always attending to their preferences. Both plants thrived!

Until they didn’t.

Not enough sunlight.

Too much water.

Suddenly, I found myself on my knees, hose in hand, gently tugging each leaf grouping apart. Mush in some sections. Healthy leaves in another. I focused on recovery. Every day, I visit these plants and murmur an incantation of encouragement.

Just enough sunlight.

Water measured with caution.

Regrowth.