The Plant That Wouldn't Give Up

Solanum rantonnetii (Blue Potato Bush)

After my partner and I moved into our first home together eight years ago, my sister brought us a Blue Potato Bush, Solanum rantonnetii, as a housewarming gift.

It wasn't a plant I would have purchased on my own, but I did appreciate the loving gesture. My mother has the same plant, now an adult looming outside her kitchen window. It's a little straggly and gnarled these days due to age and most certainly because of the substantial pruning I've done to it over the years. But it still sends scores of those unmistakable purplish-blue flowers that attract hummingbirds in droves.

I knew it preferred full sun so I planted it in our South-facing front yard. It proved to be a stubborn grower in our garden's heavy clay soil. (Mom's garden has looser, rockier soil.) So I ended up moving it to the Western side of the house, which gets a heavy dose of afternoon sun, hoping it would thrive there instead. It did, to a certain point, but soon became leggy, twiggy and unattractive. I couldn't get it to look right so I ultimately pruned it all the way to the ground, to keep it out of sight so I wouldn't have to deal with it.

The reason I share this tale from my garden is that I'd often compare the troublesome shrub to my complex relationship with the sister who gave it to me. Life has been as toxic to her as the lethal nightshade family from which Solanum comes. We see less and less of each other as the months pass, which deeply saddens me so I often bury my feelings, sort of keep them trimmed back and out of the way, not unlike what I did with the potato bush.

Recently, while tending to the side of the house, I noticed the plant had re-emerged. About a foot of new growth poked from the ground, from between the Cuphea, Bulbine, Dodonaea and Polygala that surrounded it. I was a little surprised because I thought for sure I had snuffed it out with my merciless act of pruning. The plant's determination was telling me something. That I needed to give it a chance and not give up hope that it will grow to be a worthy specimen for the garden I created - that it belonged there and that I shouldn't fuss with it too much. I now have a new relationship with the Solanum, a new respect for it. I see it as a symbol of the bond between me and my sister, a bond I will never let die.