![](https://armindalindsay.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/Fighting-Philodendron.jpg)
We are a plant-loving family, having inherited something of a green thumb from my dad and his dad before him. During her years in Boston, my daughter acquired a variety of green companions and lovingly cared for, coaxed, and grew them into the healthiest versions of themselves. It was not uncommon for our video calls to start or end with the camera facing and zooming in on her windowsill and shelves housing her growing obsession.
Following a medical emergency, we needed to move her out of Boston and home to Birmingham for a brief period of time. Because we don’t plan or schedule the routine crises that scatter themselves along our life path, that move happened when it happened — in the middle of February as soon as the roads had cleared after Boston’s crazy bomb cyclone of 2022. I packed everything I could fit into the backseat and trunk of my car, leaving just enough space for the two of us in the front seats pulled all the way forward.
That space on the floor directly behind the passenger seat was where we put the philodendron, and the floor behind the driver’s seat was where we secured the monstera, the only two plants able to come home with us. The plants’ containers were both large enough that their girth alone secured them in place, but I wanted to keep them warm so wrapped winter coats around their bases and crossed my fingers for the many days’ journey ahead of them. The car was so tightly-packed I could not access or remove them during our drive.
Much to our dismay, the philodendron did not survive the journey. While it had thrived and grown into quite a formidable display of gorgeous variegation in its Boston windowsill, four days in subzero temperatures were more than it could handle. It was almost more than I could handle, so I get it. Conversely, the monstera, ensconced behind the driver’s seat fared much better and is bigger and better than ever today, happily growing in its place of honor on our back porch.
Not one to be deterred by a frozen philodendron, my daughter carefully dug down and discovered a section of root still living in a small patch of warm dirt. After excavating that root, she placed it in what looks like a test tube filled with water and attached it to the fridge with a magnet. Through the window above our kitchen sink the now-propagating philodendron was supplied with sufficient natural light throughout the day. And the root grew new roots.
What a marvelous thing to witness: regrowth.
Four months later, that root had pushed three bright green leaves out its top, and an intricate network of roots down below. We gently transferred it again, this time into a tiny pot filled with nutrient-rich dirt. And I carried that tiny little pot with me everywhere I went, including on vacation. I was not leaving it unattended under any circumstances. This philodendron was a fighter and in my heart had come to represent my daughter’s own fight for her life, her own regeneration in a Boston hospital six months prior.
When that philodendron moved with my daughter to New York City I wept leaving them both behind as I drove the long road back to Birmingham alone in an empty car. And when, a year later, my daughter brought it back to me to tend and care for for always, I cried again. That fighting philodendron is never far from my sight and is always in my heart. “We’re so proud of it!” my daughter texted me this morning when I mentioned it was to be the theme of today’s article.
I am proud of that plant. I am proud of my daughter. I am proud of myself. And I am proud of the fighter in every single one of you. Let this story of a fighting philodendron remind you that routine “crises” are a natural part of life’s path. And always those happen in the most inopportune times and seasons. We might feel frozen and unable to move, but if you do some gentle excavating, you will discover a warm patch of dirt in which you’re still beating. Hydrate, get plenty of sunshine, and grow yourself in a new pot of possibility.
Sometimes it takes being witnessed before you can see yourself reimagined. Let me know if you’d like to schedule time with me so I can help you see how green and growing you are.
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