Once upon a time, Husband owned an aloe vera plant. It wasn’t just any aloe vera plant. It was the King Kong of aloe vera plants. It was giant and green with pokey blades that look like tentacles. And, giant. Mostly giant.
For the record, no aloe vera plant should ever be that size.
Anyway, this plant was given to Husband as a baby (the plant, not Husband) by a sister-in-law long ago. Husband loved the plant, actually using the aloe from its blades (Is it normal to open your boyfriend’s fridge and have a tentacle fall out on you?), and essentially nurturing it into the King Kong monstrosity it came to be.
At least, the monstrosity it was up until three weeks ago, when I decided (with Husband’s permission) to break it up into smaller plants and transplant those starters into new pots. Because, if there’s anything better than one King Kong aloe vera plant, it’s several King Kong aloe vera plants.
So, now it is separated into multiple pots. And dead. Or dying. Well on its way to being dead. Poor split-apart, King Kong aloe vera plant. Poor Husband.
I don’t know where I went wrong. I’m pretty sure I followed all the planting “rules.” Sandy soil that succulent plants like? Check. Plastic bag spread out on ground to catch mess? Check. Extra pots to plant starters into? Check. Plants staked for support? Check. Waiting a day to water them as per the sandy-soil-for-succulent-plants-bag instructions? Check. I did it all.
And now King Kong and his offspring are mostly dead. And every day, Husband comes home from work, walks by our balcony and says, “I think the aloe vera plants are dead.”
I’ve considered quitting gardening. Succulent plants are, like, the most hands-off plants a person can grow. If you kill one of them, you probably ought to give up growing things. But, I’ve opted not to let King Kong’s death affect me. I will plod on. I will redeem myself.
Hopefully without losing a lot of plants in the process.