See that little guy? He's about two inches tall. And he is a miracle because I have, well, a brown thumb. Remember how I have kept my almost two year old poinsettia alive? It even bloomed for me earlier this year! In May I transferred it into a larger pot and relocated it to the deck near the front door. It was happy there last summer and this year nearly tripled in size. Out in the fresh elements on the north side of the house seems to be the optimum place for it. Sometime in July I was watering the deck pots and noticed that a tiny, green bit of a branch had broken off the poinsettia. In a moment of inspiration I poked it down into the damp soil of the pot its progenitor was occupying. I promptly forgot about it. Then a couple of weeks ago when I took on the task of moving the plants indoors that I wanted to winter-over in the house I spied this perfectly leafed-out tiny plant sharing the poinsettia's pot. I know, I know, poinsettias are often propagated this way. But I have a very brown thumb. I have a lousy track record with plants and gardening of pretty much any kind. Only the hardiest of the hardy survive in my care. Which is why this baby poinsettia is pretty darn special. I should probably continue mostly ignoring it since that method has thus far been successful. It is currently potmates with a cutting off my hoya in a McCoy planter that Grandma Esther gave to me years ago. I'm pretty sure it had a thriving plant in it at the time. Which likely withered in my care in short order. I'm hoping that this time around the McCoy pot is infused with Esther's green-thumbness. That and sharing quarters with a cutting from my magical hoya might be all it needs to survive. Oh, and the mama poinsettia is right there, too. With any luck, my thumb will be upgraded to beige.
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