The Strawberry Situation: A Dynasty in Distress
I went outside today with the modest goal of checking on my one rooted strawberry daughter (after, like, 10 days of general neglect). Maybe give her a little water. Maybe admire her tiny leaves and congratulate myself for successfully cloning a plant like some kind of backyard geneticist.
Instead, I discovered – after lots of googling about how much space one plant needs – that every single strawberry in my so‑called dynasty was living in conditions that could best be described as “temporary housing after a natural disaster.” Shallow pots. Random soil. A general aura of exhaustion. It was like walking into a tiny strawberry refugee camp.
I have to give these plants a place of their own, instead of trying to make them be their best selves in tiny hanging baskets. I could have sworn I once saw a picture of strawberries growing (plentifully) in gutters repurposed as planters. So, you can see how my very incorrect hanging plants would not have originally roused suspicion.
The Daughter Graduates
My daughter plant – the one perfect little rosette I pinned down weeks ago – has officially rooted. She wasn’t just ready. She was pressing her face against the plastic like a kid waiting to be picked up from daycare.
So I clipped the runner, lifted her out, and gave her a real pot. A pot that says, “You have a future here.” I wished her happy growing.
She looks so proud of herself in her new digs.
Repotting and the Tough‑Love Flower Removal
Here’s something I didn’t know until recently: strawberries will try to fruit even when they absolutely should not. They will throw out flowers like, “Look! I’m contributing!” even when they’re starving, cramped, and barely hanging on. My poor plants had been doing that since late March and I had no idea.
Apparently, you’re supposed to remove the flowers so the plant can focus on surviving instead of trying to impress anyone. But that’s for my climate, my garden, and my goals – what I’m doing may not be the right solution for you. So… do what you will with that information.
I pinched off every flower. It felt dramatic, like I was making some kind of tough‑love parenting decision, but I’m trying to learn how to do this correctly. And if the internet and AI are both telling me “stop letting them fruit right now,” then fine. I don’t have the budget for another season of failure, and it’s not like I know anything better to do.
Removing early strawberry flowers is a common container‑gardening practice to help young or stressed plants focus on root and leaf development – especially in hot climates like central Texas.
The Soil Crisis of 2026
Once I decided everyone needed new pots, I realized I did not have nearly enough soil. Not even close. I had a handful of leftover strawberry mix, some old Sta‑Green potting soil, a weird perlite blend from a failed propagation attempt, cow manure, peat moss, and a rising sense of dread.
For a moment – a real moment – I thought, “Do I have to choose which plants live?” Because I could not go to Lowe’s today, and I was staring at six strawberry plants and maybe enough soil for one and a half.
If you want the full meltdown, I wrote it up separately because it was too ridiculous not to document:
[The Soil Crisis: A Cautionary Tale in Improvisation]
Are You Supposed to Give Them Names?
Once everyone was finally in their new pots and alive, upright, and probably confused – I realized I still had no idea which plants were supposed to be “mothers” and which were supposed to be “fruiters.” Every guide says something different, and half of them contradict the other half.
Are you supposed to give them names? No, like seriously – there was a second where I thought they needed names and name tags. But you know… it was a weird week and it was early.
I tagged the one I think was the mother, but who knows. I’m going to wait to see what the plants decide to do. If one starts sending runners, great – maybe she’s a mother or the original mother. If one focuses on leaves, maybe she’s a fruiter. If one does absolutely nothing, well… same, honestly. I don’t want to do anything either.
I seriously need a better system or checklist.
Where the Dynasty Actually Stands
- One daughter transplanted
- Five original plants rehoused
- Flowers removed because apparently that’s what responsible gardeners do
- A soil crisis narrowly avoided
- A plan that is less “strategy” and more “educated guessing”
I genuinely have no idea if any of this is going to work. If I posted these photos on my neighborhood ND page, I’m sure I’d get twenty different answers, all delivered with the confidence of people who have been gardening since the Reagan administration. Someone would say, “Well, I do this in Michigan,” which is great for them but not remotely helpful to me. Someone else would say, “It’s too late in the season for strawberries, those are spring plants,” and honestly, they’re probably not wrong either.
But here’s the thing: I’m not trying to recreate anyone else’s garden. I’m trying to figure out what works for me, in my weird little corner of Texas, with my budget, my time, and my very limited experience.
And I don’t have the luxury of learning slowly or waiting for the perfect season or relying on passed‑down wisdom that may or may not apply to central Texas. I’m learning this stuff in real time, with whatever information I can get from AI, the internet, and my own questionable instincts. I’m trying to build something that feels like forward motion, even if it’s completely a mess.
I’m going to try this and see what happens. It’s fun. It’s something to do. And right now, with all the job rejections piling up and the creeping feeling that I’m becoming less employable by the day, I need something that feels like it might eventually pay off, even if it’s just a handful of strawberries I didn’t have to buy.
And that’s enough for today.
cattywampusrumpusfarm.com 