From my point of view as a geranium stem, the journey begins with a clean, sharp cut. It is crucial that the parent plant is healthy and I am a non-flowering stem tip, about 4-6 inches long. The human must use a sterilized tool to make a diagonal cut just below a leaf node. This angled cut increases my surface area for water intake. Immediately after being severed, I feel a strong instinct to conserve my energy. The human must remove the lower leaves that would otherwise sit submerged, as they would rot and foul the water that is to be my new home. A few robust leaves at my tip should remain to perform photosynthesis.
Being placed in a clear glass or jar is a strange sensation. The water is my entire universe now; it must be fresh, clean, and preferably tepid. Chlorinated tap water can be stressful for my tissues, so letting it sit out for a day is beneficial. The jar should be positioned in a location with very bright, but indirect, light. Direct sunlight would overhear the water and cause me to cook, a truly unpleasant prospect. From my submerged nodes, I sense the need to seek resources. This triggers a hormonal response deep within my vascular system, a signal that it is time to create adventitious roots.
Over the next few weeks, my biological priority is survival. The energy stored in my stem, combined with the minimal photosynthesis from my remaining leaves, fuels this incredible transformation. I begin to form callus tissue over the wounded cut area, a protective barrier against pathogens. Then, from this callus or directly from the node, tiny, white root primordia begin to emerge. These are my new lifelines. They are delicate and designed to absorb oxygen and nutrients from the water. It is vital that the human changes my water every 5-7 days to keep it oxygenated and free from the bacteria that love to feed on my slowly decaying stem material. Stagnant water is my greatest enemy here.
Once my new root system is about 1-2 inches long, I am ready for the next great change. My water roots are different from soil roots; they are more fragile and adapted to an aquatic environment. The move to soil is a significant shock to my system. The human must prepare a pot with a light, well-draining potting mix. They must handle me with extreme care to avoid damaging my delicate new roots. The soil should be kept consistently moist, but not waterlogged, for the first week or two to help me acclimatize from my water world to the soil matrix. This period is critical; I must quickly establish my soil roots to effectively draw moisture and nutrients from this new, granular environment.
