Of potted plants and my Kalanchoe

I am totally envious of those with green fingers, that special ability to make plants grow, revive an otherwise lifeless plant, encourage an almost barren plant to flower, promising a continuation of lineage within its potted kingdom.

My mother can breathe life back into a pot of dying dehydrating money plant just by trimming back dead parts, adding fertilizers and watering it.  My Dad, who works in a landscaping company, is needless to say, the master plant grower (can't claim that he is a horticulturist, for he is not).  He had offered his green touch to countless plants, as he goes on his daily rounds of landscaping maintenance, re-potting, watering and trimming rows and rows of shrubs and potted plants found in vast private residential properties.  Unfortunately, I had not inherited either of their green genes.  I do not have green fingers.  In fact, I am so lousy with plants that I had on two occasions, killed one little pot of cactus and one pot of succulent, by drowning them with too much loving moisture.  The cactus I had was the Gymnocalycium (Spider or Chin cactus), but I do not know the type of succulent I had drowned.  Those were two devastating experiences for me.  I wonder if you've ever had someone joked to you about the ease of growing cactus and succulents, cactus especially.  "These are sturdy plants, you hardly need to care for them.  You don't have to worry about them dying on you."  Well, they did, both of them, the cactus and the succulent.  I vowed not to kill anymore innocent green lives.

When I got married and moved into my new house with the Hubby, I was really tempted to add some greenery.  I have a tiny balcony extending from my living room.  It is the perfect spot for plants.  A little corner for greens; a relaxing sight to behold after a long day's work.  Finally, I gave in to temptation.  The Hubby has the same idea about introducing greenery to our living space, and so we bought a pot of money plant, with some trepidation on my part.  The Hubby did the bulk of caring for this pot of green.  I was only in charge of re-potting it, 4 times in total, over its 10 years of life with us.  This pot of money plant had grown well in the first 3 years with us, bearing new shoots, growing fat and tall with glossy dark green leaves.  But from the fourth year on, it had stopped growing.  The growth was in fact reversed.  It got thin, turning dry and yellow for a couple of weeks, before reviving itself to some shades of green again.  New shoots would appear near the soil, but these new shoots never grow up, instead withered and die off.  Some shoots would be lucky enough to age further, but in the end, we were just left with 4 skinny stalks of the plant.  It had shrunk and shrivelled to a shadow of its former healthy self.  This process of withering and reviving repeated itself over the next few years.  Nothing else we did could completely and permanently revive this plant back to its former glory: we had shifted it away from the sun, into the sun, near good ventilation, away from strong gust of wind, added fertilizers, reduced moisture, put in more water, and the list went on.  I felt really sad for the plant, and on various occasions, had wanted to just give up and throw it away.  But I would always be held back by a tiny hope that it might regain its health, that possible "if I do this or that, it could grow again."

I decided to put a stop to what I feel is abuse to the plant.  I've decided to throw it way.  The day I turn the plant out of its deep pot of soil, I found that the roots had started rotting.  I'd like to think that the plant is telling me its time is up; it's time to let go.

I plucked up the courage to bring a succulent back to my life.  I bought this Kalanchoe on 19th January.  It was meant to be that new potted challenge I'd like to face in the new year.  I was wondering around the florist looking for that perfect pot of flowering plant.  All of them looked so beautiful, so full of life, but none of them felt like the one that I would love to bring home.  I wonder if the feeling of "that blissful day", "that blissful meeting" is suitable to describe the sweet, tender moment I had felt when I set eye on this pot of Kalanchoe.  It was that special moment for me when I saw this pot of Kalanchoe with only 4 blossoming flowers.  I was actually on the way out of the florist, thinking that I would go empty-handed again.  

I am not sure how to describe this feeling, but it just felt right that I should bring this pot of succulent back home with me.  There were actually many more pots of Kalanchoe with red, pink, white and yellow flowers in full bloom.  Those were much prettier and a better deal than this pot full of orange buds.  Nevertheless, I would settle for nothing else but this.
What happened to the vow I made not to kill anymore green life?  I guess I needed a second chance to show that I could do this.  At least, the money plant had lasted 10 years instead of a few months, which was how long both the cactus and succulent had stayed with me many many years back then.  
I had taken care of the amount of water I gave this Kalanchoe, but not without first making that same old mistake of giving abundant loving moisture.  In the beginning, I watered this plant daily, for about 4 days.  Then I took a picture of my Kalanchoe and showed it off to my Dad.  Dad only had one comment: "Don't drown this plant.  Water it once in 2-3 days."  Oops!  Thanks Dad, thanks for saving the Kalanchoe from my over zealousness.

As the Chinese New Year drew nearer, my Kalanchoe showed increased exuberance at the approaching festivity.  I was grateful for the timely advice from Dad.  If I had persisted with giving the Kalanchoe a daily shower, this post would be about how I killed yet another plant.

Perhaps the plant could hear my wishes every time I take a look at it whenever I leave my house to run errands.  The tiny orange flowers bloomed slowly, but steadily over the next few days and weeks after I brought it home from the florist.  From a plant dotted with light orange and yellow buds, it now boast of clusters of bright orange red flowers; as if rays of sunset had decided to dwell a little longer on the pot, giving a much needed encouragement to that person who lacked a little green touch.   

Notes:
- A tip I came across on the net about Kalanchoe.  There is no need to discard the plant after the bloom is over.  All there is to do is to cut off the flowering head, let the plant rest with reduced water and then resume with normal care.  Normal care means to be moderate with water, letting the soil surface dry out between waterings.  Yes, this is my weak point, I am always anxious that my plants are not drinking enough.  Then I've got to make sure that the Kalanchoe has plenty of warm, bright and sunny exposure.