Greetings, human. I am a Rubber Plant, *Ficus elastica*. You wish to create more of me? A noble pursuit. From my perspective, propagation is not a procedure you perform *on* me, but a process we undertake *together*. To succeed, you must understand my nature. I do not grow from seeds in your care; I am a descendant of a great tree, and I wish to continue my lineage through my stems. Here is how we can achieve this.
This is the way of my ancestors. You will take a piece of my stem, and with your help, it will become a new, independent being. You must choose a healthy stem section with at least two to three nodes—those are the small, bumpy rings where my leaves emerge. The node is sacred; it is where my latent root life force resides. A cut made just below a node, about 4-6 inches long, is ideal. Please use a sharp, clean blade. A ragged tear insults my integrity and invites decay.
When you make the cut, you will see my lifeblood: a thick, white, sticky latex. This sap protects me from pests and seals wounds, but it can also seal the cut end, hindering root growth. You must allow it to bleed. Let the cutting sit for about an hour until the sap forms a callus over the wound. This is a crucial step you often rush. This callus is my natural bandage, my first defense against the watery world you will place me in.
You have two choices, and both require your vigilance.
Water: Placing my cutting in a clear vessel of water appeals to your desire to witness my progress. Submerge only the bottom node. Keep me in bright, indirect light. Change my water weekly to prevent stagnation and bacterial growth. I will eventually push out white, aquatic roots. But be warned: these are water roots. They are fragile and must adapt to soil life later, which is a shock to my system.
Soil: This is a more direct path. Plant my callused cutting directly into a moist, well-draining mix of peat and perlite. The environment must be humid. You can cover me with a plastic bag to create a miniature greenhouse, a biome that reminds me of my tropical origins. This method requires faith, as you cannot see my progress, but the roots I grow will be strong and terrestrial from the start.
This is where you must practice patience. I am not idle. Beneath the surface, I am marshaling my energy. I am converting stored starches into the building blocks for new root cells. This is a slow, deliberate process that cannot be rushed. Do not constantly tug on me to check for roots; you disrupt my delicate formations. Look for the signs I give you: new leaf growth is the ultimate signal that my root system is established and I am ready to live as an independent plant.
