I exist as a tiny, dormant life, a seed containing the complete blueprint for my future self. My outer coat is hard, protecting the precious embryo within from the harsh world. To break this dormancy, I require specific signals that conditions are right for growth. For many of my Salvia cousins, this means a period of cold, moist conditions that mimic winter passing. This process, called cold stratification, softens my coat and tells me it's safe to germinate. Some of us, however, are eager and do not need this cold whisper to begin.
I do not ask for much, but I am particular about my first home. I need a fine, well-draining growing medium; a heavy, soggy soil will drown me and cause me to rot. A sterile seed-starting mix is ideal, as it protects my delicate early roots from fungal diseases. My container must have drainage holes. Gently press me into the surface of the moistened medium; I need light to germinate, so do not bury me deeply. A mere dusting of vermiculite or a gentle press to ensure good contact is all I require.
With my bed prepared, I now need consistent warmth and moisture to spark my internal engines. A temperature between 70-75°F (21-24°C) is perfect for urging me to life. Covering my tray with a clear plastic dome will create a miniature greenhouse, locking in humidity so I don't dry out. Place me in a bright location, but out of direct, scorching sunlight. Now, we wait. In 2 to 4 weeks, you should see the first sign of my life: two small seed leaves (cotyledons) emerging, ready to photosynthesize.
Once my cotyledons are open and I begin to produce my first set of true leaves—the ones that actually look like Salvia leaves—I am entering a new phase of growth. This is the time to remove the humidity dome, allowing air to circulate around my stem and prevent damping-off disease. My roots are becoming more active and need room to explore. It is also the time for a gentle, diluted feeding with a balanced fertilizer, as I have nearly exhausted the energy stored within my seed.
When I have several sets of true leaves and my roots form a small web that holds the soil together, I am ready for more space. Gently lift me by my leaves, not my fragile stem, and transplant me into a small individual pot filled with a well-draining potting mix. This process encourages my root system to become stronger and more branched, which will support my growth for the rest of my life. Continue to keep me in bright, indirect light and water me when the top of the soil feels dry.
I have been living a sheltered life indoors. Before I can take my permanent place in the garden, I must be gradually acclimatized to the harsher conditions outside. This process is called hardening off. Over 7-10 days, expose me to the outdoors for progressively longer periods each day, starting in a sheltered, partially shaded spot. Gradually introduce me to more direct sun and wind. This careful process thickens my cuticle and prepares my tissues for full sun, preventing shock and sunscald.
Once the danger of frost has passed and I am accustomed to the outdoor elements, it is time for my final move. Choose a location for me that receives full sun and has excellent drainage. Dig a hole slightly larger than my root ball, place me inside at the same depth I was growing in my pot, and backfill with soil. Water me in thoroughly to settle the soil around my roots. With space, sunlight, and occasional water, I will quickly establish myself and reward you with vigorous growth and vibrant blooms.
