From my perspective as a begonia, I sense the intention to create more of my kind. The method you call "propagation by stem cuttings in water" is a process I understand intimately. It is a journey of regeneration, where a part of me transforms into a new, independent being. Here is how I experience this transformation.
When you select a healthy stem of mine, approximately 3 to 4 inches long with a few leaves, and make a precise cut just below a node, I recognize this not as an injury but as a signal. The node is a hub of cellular potential, containing meristematic cells that are dormant and waiting for instruction. A clean, angled cut with a sharp, sterile tool is crucial. A ragged tear introduces chaos and the threat of pathogens, which can overwhelm my defenses and lead to rot instead of root. This clean severance is the first, vital command to my cells: "Begin anew."
Placing my stem into a vessel of clean, room-temperature water is a profound shift. My cut end, now submerged, is starved of the nutrients and structural support usually provided by my main root system and soil. This deprivation is the catalyst. The hydrated cells at the node sense the water, but the absence of soil triggers a survival response. Hormonal signals, primarily auxins, concentrate at the node. These chemical messengers mobilize my internal resources, directing energy and cellular machinery to the site of the cut. Their command is clear: "Grow roots to seek stability and nourishment."
Inside the submerged node, a fascinating transformation begins. Dedicated cells start to divide and differentiate, forming a white, fibrous protrusion known as a root primordium. This is the very beginning of a new adventitious root system. Over the following days and weeks, these primordia elongate into visible white roots. They are delicate and designed to absorb oxygen and moisture from their aquatic environment. It is essential to keep my water fresh; stagnant water becomes depleted of oxygen and allows harmful bacteria to colonize, which would attack my vulnerable, water-adapted roots, causing them to soften and decay.
Once my new roots have grown to about one or two inches in length, I am prepared for the next great change. However, these are aquatic roots, specialized for life in water. Transferring me directly into dense, moist soil can be a shock. The roots must now adapt to extracting water from the film surrounding soil particles, a different physical challenge altogether. To ease this transition, the soil should be lightly moistened beforehand—damp but not soggy. A gentle planting technique is paramount to avoid damaging my fragile new roots. For the first week or two, I will require consistent moisture as my roots undergo a final metamorphosis, developing the structures necessary to thrive in my new terrestrial home.
