Welcome, Minnie!
Before we left our insanely cheap three-bedroom townhouse, with the eat-in kitchen, in-house laundry, yard, quiet neighbors, and all the parking anyone could ever ask for, Other gathered helicopter seeds from the silver maple in the front yard. This tree shaded his room and his work area, and he would often sit and watch the cardinals who nested in it.
He planted about a dozen of them, and one was a fireworks display of genetic excellence -- it shot up and crashed into the roof of the little sunhouse they were in. This was to become Ash (the dominant male, of course). One other seed grew a bit, trailing steadily behind Ash; Other named him "Mailman," because Mailman did not look like the same kind of tree as a silver maple. (We now think he is, just that he grew different leaves first. We, I especially, know virtually nothing about plants, trees, leaves, or causing anything to grow, so our gardening tends to take on a mythic quality.)
Finally, Other tried the method of sprouting a seed in a wet paper towel, rather than in soil. This one sprouted and became Bounty. Bounty has had a couple of rough patches, but appears to still be alive and kicking. These three plants made the difficult trip out to the east coast on the floor of the back seat of Other's car, spending winter clinging to their curling leaves on the window sill.
Other has a wonderful green thumb, whereas I have killed more than one cactus/succulent plant, the lowest-maintenance ones I could find. Other has kept a plant going that was the centerpiece for one of my cousins' weddings, back in 2002. He also still has a plant I pulled out of the trash around the same time. My grandmother's something-or-other plant (you see them a lot in offices, yeah?) is still alive and healthy, and keeps requiring new pots, and there's one he's had since he moved into an apartment by himself around 1998.
My contribution to the operation is okay-ing occasional purchases of potting soil and rescuing/acquiring plants for him to take care of.
A few days ago, I was walking to the bus stop and noticed that a plant had sprouted in one of those holes left in pavement by a long-gone post. I'm guessing this one was a bike post and not a street sign, because the hole was round. I was amused and impressed by the alacrity of such a seed, and considered plucking it to plant in actual soil.
The seed probably originated in a yard about half a block away; this yard is covered in growing trees, wee little t-shaped sprouts, that I'm sure will be mowed down with the first grass-cutting of the year. For now the grass is spotty and weak, so the trees are left to do their thing. The thought of all of them dying under a mower has been making me really sad, but from observing grown trees in actual forested areas, I know it's impossible for that number to survive anyway. But probably three or four would. Oh well.
This plucky little tree, growing in a plot of gravelly dirt no more than three inches across, though, that was something. I checked on it on my way home last night, and it was going strong. I went to show it to Other this morning, figuring that with the crush of people who will be along our main avenues today, I needed to claim it now if I was going to.
I was too late to prevent any harm to it -- someone or something had probably stepped on it in the night, and its top and hopeful little leaves were gone. Other remained optimistic, though, so I went back with a knife and a flower pot to dig it out.
Under the street litter, the soil was dark and damp, if half sand. This tree was growing straight down the side of the concrete, and has a root even longer than its stem.
Other and I potted her and soaked the new soil with water -- I put some of her original sand in with her, to ease the adjustment -- and she's out on our balcony along with Ash, Mailman, and Bounty. I named her Minnie, because she's a year younger than the others and also that sounds like the name of a tough little girl who could beat the crap out of you if she wanted to.
I don't know if she'll survive, but I hope she does. If anyone can help her, it's Other.
He planted about a dozen of them, and one was a fireworks display of genetic excellence -- it shot up and crashed into the roof of the little sunhouse they were in. This was to become Ash (the dominant male, of course). One other seed grew a bit, trailing steadily behind Ash; Other named him "Mailman," because Mailman did not look like the same kind of tree as a silver maple. (We now think he is, just that he grew different leaves first. We, I especially, know virtually nothing about plants, trees, leaves, or causing anything to grow, so our gardening tends to take on a mythic quality.)
Finally, Other tried the method of sprouting a seed in a wet paper towel, rather than in soil. This one sprouted and became Bounty. Bounty has had a couple of rough patches, but appears to still be alive and kicking. These three plants made the difficult trip out to the east coast on the floor of the back seat of Other's car, spending winter clinging to their curling leaves on the window sill.
Other has a wonderful green thumb, whereas I have killed more than one cactus/succulent plant, the lowest-maintenance ones I could find. Other has kept a plant going that was the centerpiece for one of my cousins' weddings, back in 2002. He also still has a plant I pulled out of the trash around the same time. My grandmother's something-or-other plant (you see them a lot in offices, yeah?) is still alive and healthy, and keeps requiring new pots, and there's one he's had since he moved into an apartment by himself around 1998.
My contribution to the operation is okay-ing occasional purchases of potting soil and rescuing/acquiring plants for him to take care of.
A few days ago, I was walking to the bus stop and noticed that a plant had sprouted in one of those holes left in pavement by a long-gone post. I'm guessing this one was a bike post and not a street sign, because the hole was round. I was amused and impressed by the alacrity of such a seed, and considered plucking it to plant in actual soil.
The seed probably originated in a yard about half a block away; this yard is covered in growing trees, wee little t-shaped sprouts, that I'm sure will be mowed down with the first grass-cutting of the year. For now the grass is spotty and weak, so the trees are left to do their thing. The thought of all of them dying under a mower has been making me really sad, but from observing grown trees in actual forested areas, I know it's impossible for that number to survive anyway. But probably three or four would. Oh well.
This plucky little tree, growing in a plot of gravelly dirt no more than three inches across, though, that was something. I checked on it on my way home last night, and it was going strong. I went to show it to Other this morning, figuring that with the crush of people who will be along our main avenues today, I needed to claim it now if I was going to.
I was too late to prevent any harm to it -- someone or something had probably stepped on it in the night, and its top and hopeful little leaves were gone. Other remained optimistic, though, so I went back with a knife and a flower pot to dig it out.
Under the street litter, the soil was dark and damp, if half sand. This tree was growing straight down the side of the concrete, and has a root even longer than its stem.
Other and I potted her and soaked the new soil with water -- I put some of her original sand in with her, to ease the adjustment -- and she's out on our balcony along with Ash, Mailman, and Bounty. I named her Minnie, because she's a year younger than the others and also that sounds like the name of a tough little girl who could beat the crap out of you if she wanted to.
I don't know if she'll survive, but I hope she does. If anyone can help her, it's Other.
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