No Blooms This Thanksgiving

I noticed late last month that my 24-year-old Thanksgiving cactus was looking a little sad and wilty. Upon closer inspection, the main trunk was hollow and crispy, and all the branches just broke off in my fingers. At the time, I found a votive holder to fill with water and shove them in, just so they would last until I got around to taking proper care of them.

That finally happened today.

Now, I have more than a dozen tiny cactus cuttings poked gently into floral tubes, poked gently in turn into a slab of floral foam to keep them upright. These are in addition to the four that I started a few months ago that now have delicate root systems floating in their tubes, and one that I’ve planted in a tiny one-inch pot. That one’s not exactly thriving, but it does have one leaf of new growth. Baby steps.

I hope that at least one will thrive and carry on the legacy of its parent, which I got from Aaron’s grandmother as a well-rooted cutting. I remember bringing it home wrapped in wet paper towels on our two-hour drive back from Lakewood, and sticking it back into a container of water… where it lived until its rootball nearly got stuck in the container, and I got it into a proper pot with soil.

Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever repotted it again. Twenty years in the same soil might have something to do with its stem rot. Whoops.

First Snow, November 2025

Before I went to bed last night, the weather forecast claimed we’d be seeing less than an inch of snow during the day today. As of 10:30am, I can see at least an inch and a half piled on the lawn furniture and the tree branches outside the windows. It’s been snowing steadily for the past three hours, at least. The trees with their fall colors look out-of-place being blanketed with snow—almost as much as the trees with leaves that have barely started to think about changing.

I don’t remember how old I was when my initial reaction to the first snow changed from excitement to dread, but I’m sure it was some point after the responsibility of adulthood set in. The advent of working from home has certainly lessened that knee-jerk reaction, but seeing the untrimmed shrubs bending under the weight of this surprisingly heavy first snowfall gives me a familiar stab of regret. My gardening style is frequently called “benign neglect,” and the first snow frequently puts a halt to the remainder of the season’s best-laid plans.

For today, though, I can sit and enjoy watching the huge, wet flakes falling on the tree branches—and on the birdbaths and feeders and furniture that I haven’t brought in yet—content in the knowledge that the snow will turn to rain this afternoon, and I’ll have a second chance to finish the fall gardening chores before winter truly sets in.