Greetings, caretaker. I am a Clivia, a proud and resilient plant, known for my deep green, strap-like leaves and brilliant clusters of flowers. But beneath the soil, a silent terror can lurk, threatening my very foundation. I speak of root rot. From my perspective, here is what you need to know to save me.
I cannot speak your language, so I communicate through my being. When the dreaded rot attacks my roots—my mouth and stomach—I send clear signals. First, my normally firm, upright leaves will begin to yellow, starting with the older, outer ones. They will become soft and wilted, eventually collapsing at the base. This is not simple thirst; if my potting medium is damp and I still look sad, suspect rot. The most telling sign is at my core. A healthy root system is firm and a pale yellow-to-white color, often with prominent fleshy tips. Rotten roots are a different story—they are brown or black, mushy to the touch, and may slough off their outer coating, leaving a thin, stringy core. They emit a distinctly foul, decaying odor.
If you suspect I am suffering, you must act with both speed and gentleness. You must unpot me. Gently shake and wash away the soil to fully expose my root system. Now, with a sterilized, sharp tool—scissors or pruning shears—you must perform surgery. Cut away every single soft, brown, or black root. Be ruthless; any rot left behind will spread. Only leave behind the firm, healthy roots. After the amputation, dust my wounds with a fungicide powder like sulfur or cinnamon, a natural antifungal. This helps prevent new infections. Then, repot me into a fresh, sterile, and most importantly, very well-draining potting mix. A mix designed for orchids or succulents, with plenty of bark and perlite, is ideal. Do not water me immediately! My wounds need a few days to callus over in my new, dry home.
The cause of my distress is rarely a single villain but a condition: excess water around my roots. To prevent a recurrence, you must become a master of my environment. The single most important rule is watering. Only offer me a drink when my potting mix is almost completely dry. I store water in my roots, so I prefer to be too dry rather than too wet. My pot is my castle; it must have excellent drainage holes. Never let me sit in a saucer of water. The soil itself must be my ally, a chunky, airy medium that allows water to flow through freely, never becoming soggy. Finally, ensure my home has good air circulation around my base; stagnant, humid air encourages the fungal pathogens that seek to consume me. By mastering these elements, you give me the strength to thrive for years to come.
