December 24, 2025
Good morning!
It’s Wednesday. For the third year in a row, my Schlumbergera is reminding the world what her real name is: Christmas cactus.
She wasn’t always eager to embrace that moniker. Her family is from the coastal mountains of southeast Brazil, where blooming in December is no big deal. But it’s quite different to offer those same festive blooms from a drafty windowsill in the also-coastal but very much non-mountainous region of Downeast Maine.
She spent several years sulking, not even sure she wanted to stick around. A global pandemic and sporadic watering certainly didn’t help.
But then, something clicked.
“We all begin journeys thinking we know where we’re going. We seldom do. Yet the particular path of every life springs from the way in which an individual bends, breaks, or masters the larger movements of the day.”
—James West Davidson
Onwards,
Clara
My Christmas Cactus started as branches given to me by my Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Helen over 30 years ago. I later learned they were cuttings from my Grandmother's plant a behemoth that lived in a jardiniere in her "never to be runned in" living room (for fear of knocking into it.)
She's had a difficult year, repotting didn't sit well and I thought she might die. But, thankfully today there are 1 or 2 small fuchsia colored buds which give me hope for an almost Christmas bloom. Here's to long life, traditions and hope for the future. 🩷🩷🩷
Beautiful! My mom had Christmas Cacti and my brother took them over when she went into memory care. Now that my brother is gone, I'm not sure of their fate, as my sister-in-law has 4 cats, all new additions. She may have given the cacti to a friend to save their lives. I'll find out tomorrow!