With over a year of blogging and a nomadic-like life, I have yet to introduce “Lucky”. I have named my pets, my cars, have been known to even name furniture. . . so, yes, I am guilty of naming a plant. Originally a gift to my Dad when he was a student teacher, way back in the 50’s, it has hung around in various states of well being. As Dad went through different moves, obtained his PhD, had babies, my Farmor (Swedish for father’s mother), was custodian of the shamrock. I only have vague recollection of it at her house, it was insignificant to me at the time.
Anyway, Dad was reunited with the shamrock in the 80’s and brought it to his Chicago home. It was thriving, and he got a little creative with it, learning its life cycle, and how to take root cuttings. In the 90’s, Dad flew across the country to our home in Oregon, with a tuber or two of this shamrock. So, this guy’s got history. Of all our gorgeous house plants – some from our college days – given away or sold, it is this one we keep. Besides, I wanted to get it back to Chicago, Catherine had lost the father shamrock, and she was the only person who would even care about a silly ol’ shamrock plant. So, here it is, a plant on the road.
In the start of our journey it was an insignificant inconvenience. Just one more thing to pull out of the rig when we landed. By the 2nd week it was evident we needed to pay closer attention, it was struggling, and apparently covered in scale. Delicately wiping the stems from these creeps, it slowly regained strength.
And that’s when it was attacked by a chipmunk – all the wee, little green clover heads chomped off at the neck. Again, we are reminded to pay closer attention.
It took a long time to recover. I felt like the poor plant was in ICU for a week. My brother helped with some TLC: new soil, a spa-like soak in a pool of water and within days Lucky was back at attention.
That is, until I somehow got it’s torso caught in the plant hanger, and it was severed in half!!!
Sickened, I took the top half and stuck it in water, I left the bottom “half” in the soil. No pictures of this gruesome sight, I thought it would be like taking photos of a corpse. Luckily, only 10 days later, it’s looking like I have TWO shamrock plants.
Two happy shamrocks. . . on the road, traveling across the country. Then one day they were left, forgotten, in a bucket outside our daughter’s Florida home. While we were helping her move, we temporarily stored her house plants outside, and they got swamped.
This time, there was nothing. For months, nothing. I was taking care of dirt. When we hit the road from Florida, I brought two pots of dirt with us. I could only hope that when we ever got to Chicago, I would have something to give.
Before I completely gave up, I decided to dig in that dirt to see if anything looked alive. I found the tubers, they seemed plump and not hollow. I found new soil, gently untangled some of the roots, and we tried a do-over. Miraculously, it worked. My babies were coming back.
And, this is when it gets comical. Have you ever worked so diligently on something, and somehow you just keep sabotaging yourself? Those poor plants were knocked, kicked, slid off the shelf while driving, trampled by the dog, dropped. . . .at every turn, it seemed I was scooping dirt, re-centering, and chanting a little prayer that they pull through.
Well folks, I’m happy to say, they pulled through. And, they have multiplied again. It’s a good thing too, see, we are too attached to Lucky to completely let go. He’s got to stay on the road with us, we’ll let his babies stay with Catherine…