I never knew my great grandmother, but as the stories go, she was fond of shamrocks. I always keep a pot or two of them growing in my house for this reason. It makes me feels somehow closer to her. These shamrocks have been growing in these pots for better part of the last ten years. They go out and hang from the porch in the summertime and during the winter, I bring them inside and they hang in the kitchen. The purple one especially likes the chilly air of the very early spring and I can put it out while it's still pretty nippy outside. One year, a sparrow made a nest in the middle of it's leaves and we watched baby birdies hatch that Spring through our front window. As a thank you for the show, we stopped using the front door so as not to disturb Mamma bird when we went in or out of the house. Every time I think these Shamrocks given up the ghost, I give them a little TLC and they come back with a vengeance. I generally manage to kill even the most easily kept of plants, but these guys, they keep going and going and going. I've often wondered if Grandma has anything to do with that.