The passion of an elderly woman

Those who spend any time with me here in Portland know that I'm into bonsai—those trees of various species pruned, primped, and potted to achieve the scale and beauty of a much larger tree. I practiced the art many years ago in Los Angeles, and began again immediately upon moving to Bridgetown. So ever on the lookout for new material to work with, I found an ad on Craigslist for an estate sale, mentioning bonsai. It was in Salem today.

I arrived at the estate sale with a few other garage-sale vultures, as I imagined them, early, hoping to be the first person to grab my quarry—if in fact there were a quarry to grab. They could have been lousy trees, after all. They could have been overgrown or nearly dead "mall-sai," the "bonsai for the masses" one finds in the kiosk at the mall or at the farmer's market. Serious aficionados like me are looking for something large, graceful, old, powerful, interesting.

I found some serious trees, scattered among some really unremarkable material. First thing I found was a potted redwood, and I found an ume (Japanese flowering apricot), what looks to be a cherry, and what looks to be a princess persimmon. The redwood was a significant find, and the gal who was pricing the items mentioned "more trees over there." Over there I found a rather large wisteria with graceful lines, sweeping branches, and pretty bark with the patina that only comes with an older tree. I found a few pots I liked, paid way too little, and packed the car with my prizes.

Bonsai is an interesting art, insofar as the world's finest trees change hands over generations, and over the lifespan of a tree, several artists may leave their mark on it as they adapt it to their vision. The tree cooperates within its limitations, but some talented artists are able to shatter what appear to be major limitations of a particular specimen. So in homage to the trees I was adding to my collection, I asked whose they had been. They belonged to a woman named Marge (last name begins with "C" I think) who passed away. I took a little time to wander the house to see if anything else interested me and notice what I could of Marge. There was not much, some rickety mid-century modern furniture and unremarkable kitchen stuff, as well as some Asian art.

But I learned something of Marge by her trees. That redwood I found came from a bonsai nursery in Mendocino County, California, collected by a couple of brothers who dig them out of the forest. Most of the redwoods of its size and age come from this source. Then there was this wisteria. A really nice, valuable tree. Both were in nursery cans and there were no bonsai pots in the collection of pots for sale that would work for them; she hadn't purchased them yet, but she had planned to. Like me, she enjoyed flowering/fruiting bonsai.

I suppose they could have been her husband's trees—the toy train set in the garage hinted at a masculine presence, but I sense the trees were her thing. She attempted wiring but wasn't very good at it. She had to shell out some serious money for the redwood—easily a few hundred dollars—and at least a hundred and a half for the wisteria as well. She had hopes for these trees. All her other trees were small but the redwood and wisteria were large. She was thinking bigger before she died, and this was her start. I'm pretty sure Marge was peripherally involved with one of the local bonsai clubs, or made the drive down to Corvallis to go to Wee Tree Farm to get the Wisteria. The ume still has the Wee Tree tag on it. Neither the redwood nor the wisteria were beginner's trees, although from the condition of the collection (which also had some ginkos and some really bad trees), I could tell Marge was a beginner—a beginner with a passion for her trees, which she couldn't fully serve.

Sadly, perhaps, she wasn't close to any other bonsai people; else they would have taken care of her trees for her, or like in my club here in Portland, auctioned them off to club members with proceeds benefiting her estate.

I am grateful to Marge for these trees and look forward to tending them (I potted them today in bonsai pots) for years to come. Hopefully I will do Marge well by these trees, and eventually pass them onto someone else who cares about them and continues to refine them or even recreate them to their own taste.

So after the estate sale I drove to Telperion Farms, a big bonsai nursery sort of on the way home (a short side trip, anyway), and bought pots for the new trees (repotting time is NOW) so I could get to work. I had a nice visit with Chris, his wife Lisa, and their friend Gary, a talented potter whose work I couldn't afford.

Maybe I should have splurged though. When I stopped at Chipotle in Tualatin (or is it Tigard; I get those two places mixed up. Nyberg Road, that one), and ordered a burrito, something beautiful happened. I couldn't get the wallet out of my zipper pocket on my pants. No matter what. The gal at the counter laughed, saw me struggle, and simply gave me the burrito. I found money in the car, but she wouldn't take it. I told her I'd share the karma down the road with another.

I have this little statue I got in Peru, of a guy with a couple of C-notes and several bags of grain and other treasures around his neck. He's the "eqeko de la buena suerte," but I call him the God of gratitude, abundance, and generosity. (The person who sold him to me insists you must put a cigarette in his mouth, but only on Thursdays. I've mostly complied.) When I pray to God using this little figure, I am reminded of those facets of God—generosity, abundance, and gratitude. This morning I was in a very excited mood and I made a special prayer to el eqeko.

I was truly blessed today God's generosity and abundance, and I am grateful, even as I look for another way to share the generosity and abundance. A friend of mine wants a bonsai; I think she's going to get one from me soon. :-)