After my family moved to our house on Ovid Ave. in Oak Cliff in 1962, my mother acquired a tropical plant called a hoya. I don’t remember where she got it. Maybe someone gave it to her as a housewarming gift. She loved this plant. I loved it, too; but I didn’t realize just how much until recently. Mother’s hoya flourished on the window seat of the big picture window in the front of the house which faced east. It bloomed often, and every day in the late afternoon the waxy blooms put out a very sweet heavenly fragrance which filled the entire room.

I’m not sure why, but I have been thinking about Mother’s hoya recently, and I finally bought one on Etsy.com. The rooted cutting arrived in a box yesterday with its root ball tenderly wrapped in a paper towel. It was larger and prettier than I expected it to be. I planted it in a small clay pot and put it in an east-southeast window. I don’t suppose it will bloom for a while, but it will be worth the wait.

All of this time, I thought a hoya would be a high-maintenance plant, but I have learned it is almost indestructible. We’ll see…