Greek lore has it that the Amaryllis flower is named for the shepherdess, Amaryllis, whose love for the gardener, Alteo, was unrequited. Amaryllis undertook a novel, surely painful, way to draw attention to herself: For a month she walked the path leading to the door of his house, piercing her heart with an arrow. No word as to whether she successfully caught his eye, but the blood from her heart was said to have created lovely, striking flowers that bordered the path. And looking at an Amaryllis flower in all its striking beauty, it’s easy to appreciate that Amaryllis means “sparkling” in Greek. (Less clear, however, is the origin of its scientific name of Hippeastrum–horse star.)
Amaryllis can be unpredictable when it comes to blooming, but you can stack the odds in your favor by putting the bulbs into hibernation.
My Amaryllis bloom in late winter, their colors adding drama to the sometimes gloomy days of a New England winter. When the plants are ready to bloom, I move the pots from their location in front of a sunny window to the sideboard in the living room, the best location in our house for admiring their striking colors (deep red, salmon, and white with pink stripes) and graceful beauty.
Once the blooms fade, I cut off the flower stems, leaving the long, strap-like leaves intact and move the plants back in front of the sunny window. Here they sit, watered and misted regularly. When it gets warm enough, they, and all my other houseplants, go on summer vacation; the plants are moved outside into various parts of the garden, spending the summer in the sun, shade, or partial shade, depending on the plant. My Amaryllis spend the summer under the deck, to be brought back into the house with all their other houseplant buddies in late August or so.
By mid-September, it’s time to put the bulbs into hibernation so I stop watering my Amaryllis. I count 12 weeks forward, writing this date on a piece of tape I stick to each pot before moving the plants to the basement, the coolest spot in our house. I leave the Amaryllis alone, checking on them now and again to cut off withering leaves.
When the date noted on the tape arrives, I knock each Amaryllis out of its pot, removing the dirt from the bulb’s roots. The bulbs are always firm, green, and heavy, indicating they had a good summer. I pull off any withered, puny, dry-looking roots, leaving those that are fat and healthy-looking, however many of them there may be. I repot each Amaryllis, use rich, porous potting soil and a pot with a drainage hole.
An Amaryllis bulb likes to feel crowded and be exposed in its pots, so I 1) use a pot having a diameter twice the diameter of the bulb at its thickest part and 2) make sure that about 1/3 of the bulb is above the soil line.
I water thoroughly and put the plants in front of a sunny window. In terms of watering, I strive for moist, not soggy soil. In short order, the tips of leaves appear and if I’m lucky, so do the tips of a flower stem.
Part of the Amaryllis’ appeal to me is that they are unpredictable in terms of blooming. I have 15 Amaryllis plants. This year six bloomed. The best year saw 12 bloom–an event that had me giddy. Occasionally, a baby Amaryllis bulb appears; I put bulblets into their own pots when I repot my Amaryllis after hibernation. With proper care, an Amaryllis bulb can live a human generation, so my collection of Amaryllis should give me years of enjoyment.