Years ago, I purchased one Portulaca plant from the nursery. Portulaca is a suculent able to thrive in poor soil in wicked Deep South conditions. I bought a yellow variety and stuck the plant in a pot in a curve in our front driveway.

From one plant, many grew. In my biography, this season of my life, this particular summer, is known as the Summer of Portulaca.

Everywhere the wind blows seed even where there is little good soil, the yellow flowers bloom. In cracks with only enough dirt to make a mouse with allergies sneeze, flowers grew up to bloom. Between weeds, underneath where LS parks his car, backyard, side yard, in the grass Portulaca does just fine.

Mid-Summer, I began to panic. My attempts to take each plant and place them in pots became a daily job. Portulaca plants out-numbered my pots. I dug back in the mess of the falling down green house for pots.

To plant Portulaca in my micro-climate, take your finger and stick it in dirt to make a hole. Place the plant in the hole and begin looking for another place to plant more Portulaca.

At a nursery up the road, I asked for a piece of red Portulaca. The nursery woman* glared at me but because I was buying several plants, she agreed. From the one red piece, I have loads and loads of bright red blooms among the yellow.

I think I have the perfect environment for Portulaca. Right here. Right now. Without special soil or tools or technique, I grow large pots of the stuff. In quiet moments, I stare at the pots all over my courtyard and placed in Mr. C's Hot Pond (spa) area. I notice how the seed pods emerge after a bloom falls and when the time comes, the tiny black seeds fall to the ground.

In the midst of my renewal, plants grow.

Blessings to you and yours,

St. Casserole

*Not Faye, my best nursery woman. Faye's greenhouse is rebuilt, business is brisk and her dogs and cats are fine.