NEW ROOTS

Recently I was given a houseplant by a dear friend.  She had been given this plant as a sort of “came with the office” neglected orphan.  She had been struggling with the plant, trying to get it to grow, fill in and look more... lush.  This plant was quite sickly looking.  Just a few straggly, sparse vines.  Limply hanging over the edge, like it was trying to escape the pot, give up the ghost, and leave this planet.   Sadly, it didn’t even have strong enough roots to hop that wall or enough leaves to take flight and escape its inevitable fate. Knowing my skills with plants and because my friend could not bear to take its life, she gave me the plant in a last-ditch effort to nurse it back to health.  Plant rehab, yessssss, let’s go!

Thinking that this plant just needed some TLC, I went to the store, bought new potting soil and a new basic pot I thought she’d be happier in.  I re-potted her, gave her tips a light trim.  I pruned out the most sparse branches altogether and gave her proper sunlight and water.  And waited... and waited.  Finally, and to my surprise, the most astonishing thing happened ~ NOTHING.  It just sat there... looking as limp as ever.  No growth.  No life. No springing back with joy as plants do when they are transplanted.  Given better container conditions and regular care. I had done no better than my friend, who has an admittedly black thumb. Defeat. 

I thought of throwing it out. Not telling my friend.  Maybe I could just purchase a new plant and present to her as a miracle.  Kind of like when your toddler’s pet gerbil dies and you can’t bare to tell them, and crush their little heart.  So you present little Timmy with a new, maybe more plump, much softer, and about 3 years younger, Bartholomew ~ miraculous!  Alas, this is not my style.  I wanted to be totally honest and up front with my friend and use this as an opportunity as a lesson in plant care taking for her.  Letting her know that sometimes we just need to let to be brave and completely ditch our plans. 

Even though it hurts to admit failure.  I told my friend that I was just going to throw out her plant and we would replace it with something new, as she had just suddenly moved to a different office space and we could find something more suitable for the new space and lighting.  But, I just couldn’t do it.  Not to my friend, and not to the plant.   I just couldn’t throw it out.  What was it about this sickly, weak, sad sot of a plant that it wouldn’t budge, but was also crying out to be saved?  Was it that it came from someone’s ex, had been abandoned, neglected and just had bad energy?  Bad plant karma maybe, I thought.  I wanted her so badly to be a survivor.

Frustration set in.  I thought about my struggling straggly runt for some time, while waiting for the plant to just end its own life.  Which would solve the problem at hand, without me having to do the deed myself. 

One evening, without warning, I woke up in the middle of the night. I had an epiphany, this this plant had nothing to lose.  So... challenge accepted.  I went to a local nursery and bought a different potting soil, something more rich and subtle.  I also found the perfect pot for my friend.  Something stately , that suits her style and personality.  Her energy, instead of something plastic, that was mass produced for quick sale.  The pot was a small tall heavy clay pot.  The brightest of white.  With vertical ridges and a matching saucer.  It was elegant. Now, properly armed with a pot that could be worn by the plant like a dress at her wedding, I went to work.  

Now home, I grabbed the plant, took her outside and dumped her upside down.  Upending her so that the soil could all tumble down.  All the soil escaped, re-using it in an outside bed I was in the midst of redesigning.  I cleaned the remaining debris off her roots, which looked brownish , thin and worn out, and took her back inside.  I proceeded to cut the lanky branches into pieces at the nodes, discarding all roots.  Left with just small pieces of branches, sparsely tipped with just one or two leaves, I plunged them into a glass of water, cut side under the water’s brim.  The leaves just peeking over the edge of the glass.  Like the chin of a child learning to swim, holding on for dear life at the side of the pool.  Taking a break from all their hard work of splashing and hand flinging.

And I waited. And waited. And... waited.

For what felt like an eternity, weeks went by.  I knew the cuttings would either perish... or thrive.  I had been quite brutal in my cutting, removing her lifeline roots.  I ripped from her the comfort of her bed.  Her warm soil covers.  I exposed her to the feeling of falling.  Drowning in the unknown.   A new environment.  Sink or swim, I said, with no mercy.  

Tough love, I thought.

About four weeks later, I woke up and saw something new.  She had sure taken her time.  Struggling to survive, deciding whether to give up hope, and if it was worth the struggle to keep going.  To make a new life, from almost nothing.  To start over.... in a new place, replete with new roots.  Roots unfamiliar even to her. Well she had clearly stopped vacillating, and made up her mind.  There they were, like the plump, wiggly feet on a healthy newborn ~ new roots!   I tried not to get overly excited, not knowing how this was going to turn out.  Would the roots keep growing?  Would they rot out in the water?  Would new leaves grow?  What would happen when I finally potted her up from water to soil?  All unanswered questions, waiting for their precarious answers. 

I didn’t tell my friend about my experiment; I didn’t want her to be disappointed if her plant gave up on its future.   I didn’t want my friend to blame herself, and with this writing,  she still does not know what happened, wth her baby... until she reads this article. Well, to my unending surprise, this underdog was fighting for survival.  The roots kept growing.  Week after week, slowly reaching further down the glass.  Growing roots and eventually a few tiny leaf nodes started to appear.  First small pointy tips rolled up tightly, safely.  Unsure of their new world.  The new leaves eventually opened up and a few more developed.  Again, very slowly. Tentatively. 

Baby steps, I thought, as I rinsed the roots occasionally and did whole water changes at that time. Sure that every time I made a change, this would be the end of her. 

Sink or swim, I thought.

So far, so good.

Approximately one month later, no less than two months from the beginning of this journey of pushing limits, I decided to ask for more. I now wanted to dress her up in her new pot, with a new bed of soil.  Taking her from water to dry land; a brand new home.  Something most humans are not even ready for.  But again, this one had nothing to lose. Grabbing pot and soil, I pulled her wet feet from the water and rinsed them carefully.  I placed her new feet gently in her new crumbly soft soil.  Tucked her in lightly, covering her to her waist, letting her now stronger stems and perkier leaves, just peaking out of the soil, with her many leaves, the new and rehabilitated, looking in all directions. Like a gaggle of children traveling on a trip to somewhere new, marveling out the car windows at all the new colors and sounds whirring by… at the speed of a new thrilling adventure.

My baby was growing up. 

I could let go now, let her reach out in a plethora of new directions, on her own.  Spritely sporting a new look, in a new world.  With hope for filling this new pot, stuffed to the brim, with a new head of leaves.  Finally.

I am quite proud of her.  It was a bit daring, my experiment.  After all, this wasn’t really my baby, I was just a foster mother.  It was touch and go for a while... but she didn’t give up.  She persevered.  She needed to be pushed, prodded, to have everything she knew stripped from her.  Forced to start over.  I had to agree to just be a spectator, hands off.  To wait and watch, with no true power to save her.  I had to let her make this journey on her own, deciding if this life was worth living... or not.

Sometimes, we just need to tear out our roots, be submerged in something new, and be patient.   Until we get into our individual comfort zone... and learn how to branch out.  Finding that we didn’t need to be coddled or protected at all.  We simply needed something, or someone, to push us to cut ties, let go, and find a new world.  A humble home, and a better path.

It turns out that this was exactly what my little foster plant needed all along.  And somehow, I think that I was the one who needed this lesson as well.

From striving to thriving, thank you to all our teachers ~ flora, fauna, human… and spirit alike.

Not all lessons are learned in the classroom.

~ The Guides