The Dirt Field

Bobby’s father gave us a jade plant a year ago. It was a pretty little plant in a terra cotta pot, and I felt like we’d been entrusted with an elegant new pet. We even debated about what to name it; Bobby had several fanciful suggestions, while I was intent on the highly original “Jade”. Although the plant sat prominently on our kitchen table in the months that followed, long stretches of time passed without either of us remembering to water it. The sandy soil shrank into a dried, fossilized sculpture that receded from the trunk, exposing the first 1/2″ of spidery roots and causing any additions of water to trickle rapidly through the hard sand and out of the pot. Unsurprisingly, the plant dropped all of its leaves and one of its two major stalks in the past month.

I realized the plant was a code blue and asked Bobby to take it back to his father (an expert in growing jades) for assistance. He made a special trip to drop it off last week, which was pointless in the end because I would have made him take it along when he moved out five days later. The last thing I need is TWO dying reminders of my ex-fiance.

Two? Oh, wait, you haven’t met Mold, the Miniature Bonsai:

Bobby had been fascinated by the bonsai trees when we’d visited a garden store earlier this year, so when his birthday came, I bought him one of those cute “Grow Your Own Bonsai” kits from the rack by the register at Barnes & Noble. (Those racks are expertly placed; at no point in my life would I ever need an “Ornamental Grass Kit”, but when confronted with one and a slow-moving line, suddenly I can picture the serenity clipping slivers of grass with tiny scissors would bring.) Bobby started growing his bonsai immediately, felt great enthusiasm when little sprouts appeared, lost some enthusiasm once he had followed the instructions and thinned the herd to a single stalk, and then went to trash the sapling entirely while he was moving out.

“It’s dying,” he argued.

“It’s not,” I countered. I know nothing about bonsai trees. I could also see the mold flourishing on the soil. “I’ll take care of it and raise it.” And now I own a bonsai that requires me to find and purchase special soil within the next few weeks. Yuck. It’s like a dog with none of the rewards. I will never snuggle with my bonsai, and it will never chase after a tennis ball and slide across the hardwood floor into the wall headfirst.

On the bright side, the kit did come with miniature scissors that can be used to delicately and serenely trim my blossoming tree. That’s not a euphemism.