I have never been a big plant gal. Historically, if you gave me a plant and waited a couple of weeks, then you could depend on me killing it. It wasn’t until October 24th, in 2013 when I finally met a baby plant that I could love. I was on a tree retreat and we were gazing upon a massive Burr Oak in Benbrook. I looked down and saw a ginormous acorn roughly the size of a doll’s head. It was remarkable. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. It looked like I was carrying a tennis ball in my pants. When I got home, I watered it and put it in a pot. Like an expectant mother, I waited. On the balcony, I watched it slowly grow inch by inch. Then one day, it was raining quite a bit so I moved it outside. I kept it there and would check on it. I was so proud.
I really believe that there is something sacred about a plant in a pot, because it takes human hands to get there. You can infer that someone cares about that plant, which is why I was so shocked when someone stole my Burr Oak. I came home from work on January 8th, at the beginning of this year and saw it was gone. I froze. When I got past the denial stage, then I started screaming. It felt like someone was pushing a blunt butter knife into my heart. I still am very angry. I have decided that I will never love a plant again.
If I thought that posting signs around the neighborhood would help, I would do it. Sometimes I daydream about who took him. Was he a tall adolescent from the inner city that likes to spend hours playing Minecraft? Was she a short, bossy Girl Scout currently enrolled in middle school who saw my plant and mistakenly decided she could provide him a better home? I can tell you this. I will never ever steal someone’s plant because I know how it feels.
