Typically, my mom and I don’t name
plants, but in this case, the moniker is perfect.
The first Mother’s Day after my
mom moved to Kansas in 2008, I searched Hays for the perfect gift to welcome Mom
to her new home. After scouring department store aisles, I gave up in defeat
and stopped by a local garden center to buy a few plants so my trip wasn’t
wasted. The moment I pulled up, I knew I’d found the perfect present. Its
magenta color was gorgeous. In addition, that particular plant would remind mother
of happy years in Southern California where a vibrant bougainvillea larger than
this one grew up our fence.
I was right. Mom loved her new addition to the blooming
pots in front of her house. Because it was in a planter, she could move it to
best capture sunrays and yet protect this tropical native from scorching July
and August temperatures. It thrived under her care and soon needed a larger home.
Mom replanted her “baby” and nurtured those scarlet blooms.
By the end of September, she wondered
what to do to protect the stunning foliage from harsh seasonal elements. It
seemed a shame to let it freeze after it had grown and produced so many beautiful
blossoms. Inside wasn’t an option due to poor natural lighting. After asking
around, Mom found a spot in the Ag greenhouse and donated winter rent to house
her treasure.
After the last frost date arrived
the next spring, Mom ransomed her baby, reinstalling it on the east side of her
garage. At first, the woody stem appeared dead. Both of us mourned and planned
to find a replacement. Fortunately, we procrastinated long enough that little
green shoots had a chance to develop and inspire a name for this seemingly
expired plant—yes, that was the first time we called it Lazarus.
For the next three years, Mom
shuttled the increasingly larger Lazarus into shelter each autumn and retrieved
it each May. It did so well under her care regimen that mom repotted it at least
one more time. After she brought it home each spring, she’d trim it to a stub
and wonder if it’d come out of it. By August, that nubbin turned into a full
size bush of flaming color and reminded us why Lazarus was the perfect name.
This last fall, Mom’s standby
wintering spot was unavailable. We hashed over choices, none of which seemed
suitable. Just before the first freeze, we transported it to my sunporch where
we hoped it wouldn’t get too cold.
By late November, Lazarus dropped
every leaf and looked truly dead. I broke the bad news and left the ugly remains
on the porch until spring when I planned to pull the goldfish trick and replace
mom’s plant before May. I intended head to the greenhouse in a few weeks to buy
a similar sized bougainvillea to put in her big pot.
I should’ve known better. After
five years of Lazarus returning from the grave, it happened again! That dead-looking
skeleton sprouted green shoots at its base the second week in April. As much as
I hated calling Mom last fall to tell her miracle was dead, I couldn’t wait to
announce this unexpected resurrection. I don’t know how long Lazarus will be
with us, but I’m shooting for passing it on to one of my daughters after I’m
gone.
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