Strangers at First, Plants Grow Into Family

Here they come again, the houseplants that went out in spring. Any day now, I'll bring the first load back into the house. Already, when I do my garden walkabouts, I make mental notes about which ones can stay outside for how long.

 Nearing the end of the outdoor season always reminds me of the histories of individual plants. All started as strangers in our home. All have become members of the family.

Sarah Frond is the oldest. Some plants get names, and this zoftig Boston fern is one of those. As my wife Lyn and I were beginning a life together in 1985, I bought Sarah as our very first houseplant. She lived in a pot in the middle of the floor of our Washington, D.C., home until our furniture arrived. From Boston. Since then, she's lived in three homes in Georgia – and now regally presides over the indoor-plant kingdom here in Connecticut.

Life has not always been easy for Sarah. At times, I've given this fern too much light, and at other times, too little water. Such hard living wore her down to fewer than a half dozen fronds about a dozen years ago. The symbolism of losing our first plant together motivated me to do everything possible to save Sarah. Repotting, misting daily, watering and lighting with great care – I did it all. Sarah came back, and we recently celebrated her 26th year as a member of the family. She's never been better. Or bigger.

Prosperity bamboo is a younger member of the family, but it too almost died.

I discovered this plant in the early 1990s in Atlanta, when the owner of an Asian gift shop gave me several stalks. Some call it lucky bamboo, and of course it isn't bamboo at all; it's a dracaena. By any name, this plant is beloved among those who believe it brings good fortune to a home. And, among those who practice feng shui, the ancient Chinese art of placement. This plant is said to promote the flow of good energy. It certain feels – and looks – good to me.

During the two decades I've grown my original prosperity bamboo, it's been in both water and soil, and after an extended stay in water, all but one stalk died. Ensuring I wouldn't lose it all, I cut the lone stalk into several sections and potted them in soil to start new plants. They all survived.

The ming aralia has been with us almost as long as Sarah Frond. Compared to Sarah and the dracaena, this aralia has had a pretty easy life. No death threats and only one repotting in twentysome years.

It has been moved around to several homes and towns, however, like the other longtime family plants. (An African violet comes to mind.) And, like them, the aralia follows the light in the house, avoiding light that's too bright and light that's too low; it wants light that's just right. So, from season to season, it's upstairs, downstairs, living room, reading room.

In some ways, the plants' travels reflect the moves Lyn and I have made; we've lived in a dozen states, together or separately, had some big times and some bad times. All made better by our ever-growing number of plant companions, flexible and tough members of the family.

Lee May, journalist and author, writes on gardening, food and other cultural pursuits at leemaysgardeninglife.com