This pothos sits on top of our mantle all year, except for Christmas, when I usually move it to decorate for the holidays. It was given to me in a tiny 3-inch pot by a co-worker for my birthday, about eight years ago. This is a hardy plant. I'm always forgeting to water it, and the sunshine that it gets comes mostly from the skylight in the room. And yet, despite benign neglect, it keeps on thriving.
Pothos lovers of my acquaintance prefer to let the branches grow long, and as they grow, find little supports for it, until eventually the leaves around the pot are scraggly, but the branches form a beautiful bough in the room. I prefer to trim back those long branches, keeping the plant looking full and lush, but fairly contained.
Below is my son, John's, pothos. He's taken the clippings I've cut from the mother plant, rooted them, and has been working for about three years on making it a viable and beautiful plant. At times, the poor thing has looked like nothing more than a science experiment. But slowly, it has improved, thanks in large part to John's tenacity. He takes it with him to college, and when it comes home, it sits on the mantle keeping company with its mother.
Both my son and his plant, went back to college this past week. The house feels empty, and, as always, I'm a little lost right now. I wonder if my pothos is feeling lost as well . . .
