Thar she blooms!

For more than 25 years, a diffenbachia plant has been part of my household. Not just some anonymous purchase from a garden center, this huge splash of variegated green in my dining room began as a start cut from one my in-laws had tended for years. As is the tendency of these tall-growing specimens with placemat-sized leaves, lower leaves die and fall off, leaving lengthy leave-less stems. So, every couple years or so, I plunge a paring knife into the stem a few inches above the dirt. Leaving a few inches of stem below the lowest of the remaining healthy leaves of the top of the plant, I continue slicing 4-6 inch chunks of stem. The plant top hangs out in a bucket of water for a few weeks to get a good start on sprouting roots before taking up residence in a pot of dirt again. The small chunks get stuck down in the dirt around the original stem, and kept well-watered. If all goes well, a new plant emerges from the old root, perhaps accompanied by new starts from the slices, in addition to the shortened original. 

"Boliver," as he was christened by the family, joined us when we were living outside Erie, PA, moving along with us to Pittsburgh, Idaho, Louisville, Illinois, Wisconsin and now Texas. He's been happiest with lots of indirect light in the winter, a sheltered spot on a patio or sun porch during the summer, and lots of elbow room. In addition to multiple moves and climates far from his tropical roots, Boliver has survived two kids, a nosy beagle, spells of caretaker indifference, and even a sabbatical stay in the corner of a church meeting room. His offspring have flourished with my mom in Indiana, almost taking over her great room, and with my son in Wisconsin, where 13 ft high ceilings and windows are a plant paradise.

For the last fifteen months I've been living in the SW desert of El Paso, known for 360 days of sun each year, HIGH Heat - as in 90's and 100's for last six weeks - and LOW humidity - until the last week when the monsoon season hit. Two or three inches of rain in a couple hours when the total rainfall for the last six months was barely enough to be measured produced the drama and danger of flash flooding down city streets. A couple days worth of heavy rains last  week also revealed the flaws of a new roof.  As I attended to the results of the leaks,  mopping up and checking for new drips in the dining room, I brushed by the diffenbachia dozens of times. On one of those trips I  noticed that a new leaf was gradually unfolding from its tightly wrapped beginnings, but went on walking back and forth by the plant for a couple days before it registered that there was something odd about the shape of this leaf. In fact, what was emerging was not a leaf at all but a blossom! In almost 30 years of life with this plant, this was a first. So maybe, after all these years, Boliver needs a new name. I'll have to consider the options: Desert Flower? Phoenix? Or, since Boliver as a surname derives from Oliver which derives from olive leaves/branch and the association with peace, how about Olive?  or La Paz?

     I'm still watching the plant closely because it appears that blossom may be the first of a cluster. Of three additional newly sprouted spikes only one seems clearly to be a new leaf. What a show!  I'll even bet there's a life lesson or sermon illustration in here somewhere.