Phil and Friend

Last night I finally got around to re-potting a huge basket of plants that I received the week before Ammons funeral. It has sat on top of my piano for months, but lately the plants inside were starting to look a little worse for the wear. Last night I bought two new pots and a new bag of potting mix, and got to work on the kitchen table. I was pleasantly surprised when I started separating plants at the variety the little garden contained. Among the other greenery, there was a single strand of philodendron. I have a long history with philodendron plants. Many years ago, when Ammon and I were blushing newlyweds and newly ensconced in Price Utah, we met a couple through our church that we would form a lifelong bond with. During the many, many hours we spent in Travis and Christina's apartment, I noticed the enormous philodendron that Christina had. She had christened it Philomelia, and we teased her good-naturedly about naming her plant. Throughout the years, I watched Philomelia grow and grow. She reached mass proportions by the time Jeremy was born, and I finally worked up the gumption to ask for a start from her. For my birthday soon after, Christina cut a small sprig off her beloved Philomelia and potted it for me in a nice pot. I nurtured the plant, and took pleasure in watching it grow. Soon, I transferred it from the small pot Christina gave me to a larger hanging basket, and started calling it Phil. Phil weathered several moves with us, and I always took great care to make sure he was taken care of and found a prominent spot in our home. When we left from Utah, I had acquired a fair amount of greenery in our apartment. I willingly parted with every single one of them, doling them out to friends and family. Not, however, my Phil. I transported Phil to my friends house for the two weeks that we would be in Ohio before our belongings traveled there, and cautioned her to take great care of my plant. In the list of instructions I left for Ammon when he flew back to Utah, I wrote: "Love my plant as you would love me." Ammon and his dad probably would have placed Phil in the back of the moving truck in order to transport it out here. I requested that Ammon carry him in the cab of his truck, and didn't subject him to the heat inside the truck in mid-July.

Phil made the trek, where he hung in my in-laws foyer, and then made yet another trek on the front seat of my van when we moved to Cincinnati. Now, Phil once again hangs in my living room.

Last night, when I discovered a small sprig of philodendron in the plant garden, I decided to add it to Phils basket. It seems fitting to me somehow, with a certain sort of symmetry that now there are those two plants together in one basket. Every time I look at the basket hanging in my living room, I am flooded with memories.