By Samra Jones Bufkins
One of the few hobbies I have left is gardening. I love the challenge of growing tropical plants in containers.
The plant above is a plumeria, which takes years to get to this size and to bloom. Native to the Caribbean, they are also very prolific in Hawaii, where their flowers are used for leis. They require some babying when young, and protection from inclement weather when grown outside their natural range. I bring them inside in the winter to protect them from freezing. They drop their leaves and go into dormancy until spring.
We’re having a strange spring. After getting all my tropicals out by the pool, we had a harsh cold snap, including a freeze warning for tonight. I brought them into the house earlier in the week, and they’ve been sitting near the patio doors.
This morning I went into the living room and walked over to the French doors to look at the mallard duck that visits every day. I noticed the biggest plumeria plant was not where I’d put it. Puzzled, I started searching for it. It wasn’t outside, nowhere in the living room, dining room, kitchen, or office.
How could a potted tree almost four feet high disappear?
I heard the door to the tiny, windowless guest bathroom open, and I walked toward it. Out came Bill, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
He was holding the plumeria plant by the stalk.
I said “thank you” and took it from him, relieved that it wasn’t damaged, or that the pot hadn’t fallen off, exposing the roots and dumping dirt on the floor.
Sunday, when the weather warms up again, the plumeria and hibiscus will go back outside by the pool.
Hopefully, my plumeria and its younger buddies will bloom later in the spring.
Just another day in Alzheimer’s World.