Sitting in front of my computer, trying to wrestle my mind to think of something other than the news reports, the word survivor pops up. And then my thinking goes to Jade.
Fifty years ago, in Ann Arbor, Michigan my dear friend, Marie, gave me a small cutting from her beautiful Jade tree. As instructed, I took it home and placed it in a glass of water to watch for roots to appear. Our house was already cluttered with different house plants. Some were vibrant. Some looked in need of repair. I didn’t feel confident that this little cutting would amount to much and feared it would go the way of my failed attempts to grow avocados-stuck-with-toothpicks in water.
A Jade plant, or Crassula ovata, can live to 100 years. Mine is now 50 years old and huge.
I think of Marie every time I walk by it. And I think of the plant as an old friend—a friend who has been through a lot of trauma and hardships. Jade’s a survivor.
In my first marriage of twenty-three years, she was dragged around from home to home. In and out of different environments. Loaded and bounced around in U-Haul trailers. Withstanding various insects and blights. Throughout it all, Jade survived. She was carted in a dump truck to a new home and a new marriage, rolled into the old farm house on a dolly, and offered up as part of my dowry.
The rest of my dowry consisted of an old Maxima Station Wagon, a partially rusted-out gas grill, my favorite cooking pots and Sabatier knives, some paintings, some books, my Cranbrook Rug Loom, boxes of wool from my sheep, some already dyed and spun, an old Golden Retriever, and two pre-teen kids with chips on their shoulders as a result of their father’s lies about me. I think the Jade and grill were the most appreciated at the time by my new husband. He was quite impressed by how big and healthy Jade looked. Most of the other stuff was relegated to the attic. My husband bought me a new car and took possession of the station wagon. I had driven it from Detroit, Michigan to Maine fifteen years prior. It had some dents, rust and ninety-thousand, plus or minus miles. Pebble was delighted. He had never owned a new car in his life and, furthermore, “probably never will.” He drove the car to 135,000 miles. Fred, who works for us, and I talked him into getting another car only when he was literally ready to fall through the rusted bottom.
Pebble ended up loving my old golden as much as I and the children did. She lived to nineteen years. After some adjustment, my kids had finally found a father they could love, respect and trust.
Jade became Pebble’s project. She sat proudly in a sunlit corner of our kitchen/sitting room. At Christmas, she was adorned with white lights and a white dove of peace. But before that, she had been moved on a dolly to another room to make space for a Christmas tree. After three Christmas seasons, Pebble said “no more. No more are we going to move Jade. She has become too heavy and large to fit through the doorways.” So, with that she was blessed to be the yearly center of attention adorned with lights.
As time went on, (Pebble and I have been married thirty-seven years) Jade suffered sometimes from too much watering, sometimes from a blight, sometimes from white flies. But Pebble always nursed her back to health. One night, our kitchen door blew open with high winds, letting in the extreme cold and blowing snow. We discovered this the next morning. Jade had suffered. She’d lost one large trunk completely, making her look comically lopsided. The remaining half didn’t look all that great either. I thought she was a goner. Not Pebble. He pruned her unmercifully. She looked so skinny and pathetic in her huge clay pot.
With loving care and attention from Pebble, my doubt diminished. As we took the time to stop and talk to Jade, she regained the strength and fortitude to grow more leaves and send off new babies. Two of the babies are starting new generations with our friends Jane and Michelle.
I love to think of my friendship with Marie spanning all these years that her gift of Jade has been with me. Family members and friends have died. Our pet dogs, cats and horses have died. And Pebble and I will die. But Jade has struggled to endure and will outlive us. I must be sure to leave Jade in my will to someone who will love, care and nurse her to her 100th birthday.