Lessons from two years in bonsai

There are always more trees I need to study.

Last week marked Fire Escape Bonsai’s second anniversary, and in keeping with my previous anniversary reflections, I want to share 2022’s lessons in bonsai. But first: over 900 people are now subscribed to this newsletter. I’m gobsmacked; thank you for sticking around. I want to do something special when we reach 1,000 subscribers. A live feed of tree work? A bonsai giveaway? Tell me what you’d like to see.

And now, lessons from year two.

A beginner’s mind needs vigilance. It’s easy to fall into patterns of presumed expertise that restrict critical thinking. But just because I’m familiar with a thing doesn’t mean I know anything about it. So I keep working on my beginner’s mind. Trust what you can see, not what someone tells you is there. Consider a thing for what it is rather than what framework it fits into.

Recovery takes longer than you think. Injured trees and animals heal in similar ways. They grow new meat over the wound. You can’t rush meat. Let it grow.

Nature really is everywhere. In admitting this I feel like a tech bro who just discovered the concept of empathy, but when you quit thinking of a place as a city or suburb and start thinking of it as a multi-species habitat, your entire perspective shifts. You notice invasive trees everywhere, their leaves and flowers unblemished because they offer nothing of value to local wildlife. You better appreciate the intricate connections between species that are required to produce something as simple as a Florida grapefruit. It’s a rush of new perceptions, and a creeping realization that we’ve paved over all that biodiversity to build a zoo where w'e’re the main attraction.

Never stop looking at trees. I’ve lost count of how many individual bonsai I’ve seen. Five hundred? A thousand? It’s not enough. I’m only beginning to get a sense of my species and aesthetic preferences. I need to study more trees.

You have to respect the process. Much of last year was spent working on a forest planting of fig cuttings. First each tree was potted individually, then I gradually worked the roots and soil on each of them, then transitioned them to bonsai mix, and grew them out to develop individual character. Only then did I plant them together in a large grow pot, and this year all I care about is filling that pot with new roots. Then the trees will be ready for root pruning so I can fit the group into a shallower pot. I must grudgingly admit that following these guidelines has paid off. A process takes the time it takes for a reason. All that time is necessary, even if I don’t see fresh results with every step.

Observation takes time. Time spent watching a tree grow unassisted feels like doing nothing. But you can’t work on a tree you don’t understand, and observation is the best is the best route to understanding. See how it grows. Where it directs its energy.

Indoor tropical trees are fun. When I first got into bonsai, I focused on rugged trees for temperate climates. They felt more serious to me somehow, a better reflection of my own environment. Growing them outdoors is a collaboration with nature. By contrast, growing tropical trees indoors is like keeping an aquarium. I’m the god of light, heat, and humidity. In return my subjects reward me with speedy growth that keeps me occupied all winter, and offerings of fragrant flowers. If you’re considering an indoor garden, do it. You will not miss the floor space you’ve given to the plants.

Ficus can do anything. The chad fig tree is unmatched in vigor and malleability. In a contest of wills between you and a ficus, you will lose.

Growing trees builds discipline. The more trees I raise and observe, the more confidence I have in the process. It’s improved my patience and opened me up to possible experiments. The stakes don’t feel as high and I don’t need every move with a tree to feel like a win. Which is good, because it turns out I’ve been watering a dead pomegranate for weeks.

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In response to last week’s post about a camellia caper, reader Mariya Strauss sent a reply that blew me away. I asked her if I could share an excerpt of her note and she graciously agreed. Strauss is the co-executive director of the Farm Alliance of Baltimore, a network of community gardens and other urban farms. Theft and litter are a fact of life, she says, mostly food which growers are happy to provide to hungry neighbors. But pricy ornamentals like flowers can go missing, too.

The farmers and gardeners in those cases usually make an effort to redouble their outreach efforts in the community. This works best when they self-identify as part of that community—maybe they attend a neighborhood association meeting and raise the topic of the thefts as a problem for all to address, or they knock on neighbors’ doors to offer some mini-bouquets and ask them to keep an eye out. Or host a cookout or giveaway at the farm.

Mariya offered advice in the form of some challenging questions.

You’re embedded in your urban community enough to have a relationship with a restaurant that’s willing to host your plants. That’s wonderful. What other relationships might you have that could be leveraged to gain better security for your plants in the future? How might the plants benefit from care that others might provide, directly or indirectly, so that all can continue to enjoy them? Who are the trees on the corner for?

Essential questions for anyone growing plants in public space. More to come on this topic in 2023.

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Tree reading

A $90 million police training facility in Atlanta is poised to demolish more than 300 acres of the city’s South River Forest. Nicknamed “Cop City,” the plan is to build a mock cityscape for urban warfare exercises, which would host police departments from across the country to live out their collective Call of Duty fantasies. Protestors have been defending the forest since the summer of 2021. One activist, a 26 year old named Manuel Terran, was shot and killed by police last week. [Vice]

Meanwhile in Utah, right wing lawmakers blame the shrinking Great Salt Lake on greedy trees sucking up too much water. The solution? Log them, of course. [Salt Lake Tribune]