Survivor

These new leaves are the new beginnings of a shamrock plant I've had for over 35 years. This plant is a fighter and it's survived some extremely adverse conditions. It's made it through repotting, depleted soil, a severe cat attack, near-drowning and a house fire. Anything that's lived that long; not to mention going through all of that stuff, deserves respect. Maybe it's the Druid in me but I'd say I feel love for this plant. Every time it's come back from the brink of death and put up yet another new leaf I've been thrilled and greatly relieved that I didn't kill it.
 At the height of its career it was a sprawling plant that lived in a big pot that sat on the breakfast-room table. It was nearly two feet across. Another name for it is the "sensitive plant," because it responds to touch. Every day for years my dad would sit down next to it and have breakfast. He never got tired of seeing it move by itself and he talked about it all the time. When a shamrock is well-established, if you touch a leaf on one side of the plant it will send a ripple across to the other side and back; not unlike the crowd doing the "wave" at a ballgame.
 A few years ago it had grown so big that the rhizomes had grown up out of the soil and were growing on top of each other and starting to choke off the stems. I repotted it into several pots and gave some of it to a few friends who could appreciate a plant that was 35 years old. I still had a good stand of it in a good-sized pot, but then it was beset by a series of personal tragedies that almost finished it. I can't remember all the things that happened to it, but one day I put it outside in the morning, and some animal knocked it over. It spent most of the day baking in the Sun. I scraped it up and put it back in the pot. Next it survived a house fire and several days of not being watered, and then being left outside in the elements for several days, and it was still getting pretty cold at night. Still it soldiered on.
 I brought what was left over to Sally's. It was doing okay until the cat got hold of it and turned it into a pot of stems. I cut it back and hoped for the best and it put out new leaves. Whew. Sally put it up out of the cat's reach, but she set the pot in a bowl. Both of us watered it without telling each other, and about a week later it was dying. I saw an inch of water in the bowl and I knew the rhizomes were drowning. All I could do was dig up the rhizomes, dry them and replant them and hope for the best. I split them into two pots hoping it would increase its chances of survival. Thankfully yet again it's sprouting new leaves. It was in the pot that has a chunk out of it after it got knocked over once again. I let the pot dry out completely since I thought I'd gotten all the rhizomes, but apparently I missed one because it's sprouting too. I'll probably repot it later today.
 Every time something bad happened to it I'd do my best to give it every chance to come back. I'll admit I talked to it and tried to send it positive energy. I even prayed for it several times. Maybe that sounds weird, but if it makes me crazy, then so be it. Sue me. So what if I feel a connection to this plant? It's been with me since my formative years. How could I not want to keep it alive? Every time it comes back I'm thrilled, and every time I think it's a goner I get considerably depressed. Maybe that's not normal, but then neither am I. I'm just glad it's making yet another comeback. It's an inspiration and a tribute to the tenacity of life. It's a true survivor. Not bad for a plant. It will likely outlive me. I hope so. Excuse me while I go and talk sweet to it. Live long and prosper.