A few years ago, one of my jade plants had one branch that was clearly suffering and one that was clearly not. I called my mother-in-law about it because it was a good topic to talk to her about. I described my struggling houseplant over the phone like a very unqualified plant doctor giving a diagnosis: “this part is kind of shriveled and sad, this part’s fine, should I water it more?, should I water it less?, should I move it to a different window?”
And she just said, matter-of-factly: Cut it off.
“What? Just cut it off? The whole thing?”
“Yes. Cut it off.”
And so I did. It turns out there’s an actual biological (botanical?) reason it works like that. Cutting a main part of the plant doesn’t just remove growth — it redirects it. The plant sends its hormones sideways instead of up, and the side branches take over, and the plant ends up bushier and fuller than it would have been if you’d just left the whole thing alone. She wasn’t being poetic. She was just factual, and correct.
I have never been able to cut a plant back without wincing. Every leaf feels like a decision I can’t take back. Even the shriveled brown and yellow leaves that I very obviously need to remove. But I hear her voice every time: Cut it off. And so I do. And the plants do better after I remove the junk.
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It would have been her birthday this week.
My father-in-law’s nickname for her was Jolly. It suited her — she was warm, and joyful, and caring in a way that showed up in what she did more than what she said.
She visited us in Denver only once, in 2019. She bought me a bouquet from the farmers’ market that weekend — gladiolas. Tall, towering, vibrant gladiolas, in different colors. I never bought flowers for the house — in fact, I was always much more of a chocolate and candy girl than a flowers girl. But sharing something she loved — that’s how she showed love and care. I don’t know if she knew all about gladiolas and what they represent, or if she just thought they were pretty (they are soooo pretty). While doing some floral research for this essay, I learned that gladiolus literally means “little sword” and it represents strength and integrity… and that gladiolas are the birth flowers for August.
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I buy a bouquet from the farmers’ market most weekends now. When I get home, I sit at the kitchen table and trim the stems before putting them in water and arranging them. And I think about her almost every time, not only because she loved flowers, but also the lesson she taught me. Cut it off. You’re supposed to cut the stems shorter so the flowers can drink. You have to take something away for the plant to survive.
When something is not working, I’m learning to just cut it off instead of tending it like it’s the branch worth saving.
The jade plant came back fuller than it was before. Not just alive — but thriving. Unfortunately, it eventually succumbed to poor conditions (I put it outside without a transition and the sun fried it one day… oops). But it did survive, and thrive, because of my mother-in-law’s advice.
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I haven’t seen gladiolas at the farmers’ market since. I don’t know if they were a seasonal fluke or the flower vendor that had them no longer appears at our market. But every week, I scan the buckets, hoping to find them.
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Thinking of you, Mom. Happy birthday.
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