My Fave-Day: Seabiscuit

Allow me to take you back with me to the Jeppsons, not quite two years ago, to the weekend in which Seabiscuit came into my posession. It was this weekend I took on a great responsibility. It was this weekend I inherited a life changing potted plant from my brother-in-law, which had been given to him in his days of singlehood, along with the instructions that if he were to keep it alive for a year, he would be ready for committment.

All these many years later, I find Seabiscuit in my own possession. Mike, needing to get rid of it, but unwilling to part with the beloved plant to the trash, passed it on to me on a weekend visit with the very same instructions once given to him. I hesitated. That's a lot of pressure. I've never been one for keeping much of anything alive. Not only would I be dooming myself in taking on such a responsibility, but I knew of Mike's attachment to the blasted plant, and I would be the cause of great disappointment felt by all parties if I were to kill it.

As I got ready to leave at the end of the weekend, I found Seabiscuit brought down from the ceiling hook, cleaned up, and sitting by my stuff to be taken to the car. I guess I really had no choice in the matter. With a big gulp, and a warning to not be disheartened if I kill it, I took the plant, assured that Seabiscuit was impossible to kill.

To my surprise, I took great care of Seabiscuit. I watered him on a regular basis, and even got people to watch over him when I left town. Other plants came and went, all of them strugglling, all of them ending in the trash, but Seabiscuit remained resilient, and I was feeling pretty good about myself at this point.

I hit around the 8 month mark, and I was feeling more and more committed with each day Seabiscuit flourished. The weather turned nice as Spring crept along, and I decided to place the cheery potted plant outside. The weather, however, is a fickle matter, something I didn't take into account, and much to my horror, I woke up one morning to find Seabiscuit a heap of crippled, brown, crusty rubbage. Turns out plants don't do so well in nights that freeze over as the sleeping, unsuspecting humans dream away. Plants left outside are not quite so resistent and secure on such nights.

In my frantic dismay, I watered it incessantly. "These crispy leaves just need a little more water," I would tell myself as I poked and prodded the rotting compost, unaccepting of the fact that I had killed the supposedly unkillable plant. When water didn't work, I turned to fertilizers and plant foods, but to no avail. I had done what Mike had assured me was not possible. I had killed Seabiscuit. I was disappointed, but mostly, I knew Mike would be disappointed...that is, IF Mike ever found out. He would tell me it was okay and that he really didn't care, but what's the sense in telling him. I knew better, and thus I stuck with the philosophy that what he doesn't know won't hurt him. I never did tell him. In a last ditch effort before I could aknowledge the fact that was staring me in the face, I clip the single remaining semi-green sprig from Seabiscuit, plopped him in a glass of water, and waited and hoped for roots to grow.

After much care and anticipation, roots did indeed grow, and after not potting it soon enough, roots fell off and died, and starting from square one yet again, roots grew back. The process was arduous indeed. Fast forwarding to today. This very day, I potted my first plant ever, and Seabiscuit is reaquanited with a pot once more. He looks lovely, and I think...I hope he'll pull through. It was a little rocky there for a while--a bit touch and go, but Seabiscuit remains.

Proof.

I would say go me, but I'm not sure I deserve that, but it's even potted in the friendship pot my roommate gave me. How could something not thrive in something as happy and cheerful as a friendship pot? It was my fave-day today, and not because my day was that awful, and for any of you that know my family on any level know that that's a big deal.