Today my Christmas Cactus bloomed. Maybe that doesn't sound too spectacular, unless you know the history of what I've been calling The Brave Little Bud.
My cactus was a gift from a neighbor a couple years back. About 4 inches tall, a simple "Y" sticking out of the soil of a tiny pot. The following year it had grown tremendously, and bloomed proficiently.
And this year my cactus had stem rot. I chopped off a half dozen large chunks , just separating the entire cactus from the infected stem, and treated all those large chunks like simple cuttings, pushing them into the semi-dry soil and hoping they'd root.
The darn things started developing buds.
I was a little surprised, but I'd seen cactus flower like this before. Back in Long Beach at the end of the road was a dense garden of hedge cactus in a small park that used to be where the trolley tracks ran through. Trolley Garden became a homeless camp and dumping ground, and the city ordered some of the cactus cut back and the area cleaned up. For a long time the chopped down cactus lay on the ground, waiting for removal...
and, strangely, blooming.
It seems cactus, uniquely evolved to thrive in harsh conditions, can survive and reproduce and/or take root when it would otherwise seem impossible for it to live.
This has become a significant metaphor for my life. My Brave Little Bud has brought me more joy and hope this season than any gifts or cards or well wishes.
After the bloom fades, I'll be repotting any of the pieces that have taken root, this time in proper cactus soil. Not only is the fact that it bloomed hopeful, but also that it can develop new roots, and continue to grow. Here there is the promise of future blooms and more cheer.
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