The Imperfect Gardener

by Adina Sara

The Elusive Bloom

Over a decade ago, a Hawaiian friend brought us a cutting of her prized hoya, promising that it would yield exquisite, aromatic yellow flowers "when the time is right." She told us to be patient it was a rare cultivar and like marriage, it would improve with age. I set it in a recommended sunny spot, and for a few months it showed promise. But leaves started turning brown, so I moved it to shade. There it sat for several years, unchanged, without a hint of bloom. I decided to train it up the deck posts (it is a vine after all) outside the bedroom window. I imagined being surprised by its professed fragrance some wonderful morning. By all accounts, it was a bloom worth waiting for.

Over the years the hoya has grown thick and heavy, unable to wrap or cling as vines are supposed to. I tried stapling the branches up along the wood posts, hoping to guide it toward the light. But instead of climbing, it stooped.

I googled "hoya." Not surprisingly, there are hoya Web sites, clubs, and chat rooms. Like orchids, the plant has an impressive following because of its supposedly intoxicating aromas and spectacular colors. From Minneapolis to Tehachapi, people spend hours online gloating about how they got their precious wax flower, AKA asclepiadaceae, to perform.

I took notes, tried changing soil, fertilizing, watering more, watering less, but nothing changed. Except that it developed a nasty infestation of yellow bugs that enjoyed feasting on the fresh new tips. I sprayed it with an organic mixture of olive oil, castile soap, and water, tried removing the crawling yellow dots with a soft cloth, and even hit it with some toxic stuff out of sheer desperation. Still, the yellow bugs survived.

The time has come to give up on it. Since I couldn't bring myself to toss it into the compost, I carefully removed the staples that held its massive bug-infested limbs to the deck posts, cut it back considerably, and set it in the corner where only the jade tree and cactus grow. It's on its own now. It either will or won't. I've got other things to do.

In its place I planted the most mundane and predictable of vines solanum jasminoides and in a few weeks it has already shot up to the top of the wall, wrapping itself like a dancer around the deck posts, offering a delicate bow of gentle white flowers at each bend.

It's a hard lesson in gardening, but sometimes you just have to know when to nurture and when to let go.

Metro Garden Club

Do you have or need particular plants, soil, or other garden goodies to share? TheMetroGardenClub\@yahoogroups.com is the place to get involved in the growing gardening community of the Metro neighborhood.