One summer afternoon awhile ago, I pulled from my lunch bag the wedge of lemon I cut daily to squeeze fresh juice into my cup of tea at work. Inside the wedge, well hidden under a heavy protective mass of pulp and juice, was a seed which had sprouted. The fruit I had picked at the supermarket was apparently of an age at which it could–and did–produce progeny unbeknownst to its grower.
Just for fun, I stuck the seed in some water, and within days it had grown enough that I was able to put it into some soil. Unfortunately it died.
Weeks and a few lemons later, another sprouted seed appeared. I worried that I might not have planted the first one properly (it’s possible I buried it upside down, as I was unable to tell which part was the actual root of the thing), so I left this seed in water awhile longer, and soon I saw evidence of its sense of direction and proudly potted it, placing it on the generous windowsill facing the warm sun outside the office window.
The seed grew quickly, and over the past few years I’ve had to re-pot it four times. It is now a grand plant about four feet high. It now needs a table, rather than a windowsill, but it is the pride of the office, and volunteers care for it when I’m away.
The trouble is, what is the future of such a tree?
I have read that lemon trees can be grown in containers if kept in the proper environment and cared for with good soil, drainage and misting (it needs the same type of climate as the one from which it came).
Everybody is waiting for the day when it grows a lemon. We joke that we might get half a glass of lemonade and can pass it around if everybody sips a drop apiece. Like anything in life, it’s a joy to have and watch, and it will certainly add to the office decor for a long time.
It had better. Not another sprout has appeared in my lemons since then.
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