A Blood-and-Tears History of Succulent Care: From Eager Attentiveness to Zen-Style Neglect

Main text

Images and text: Shuimu

Compiled by: Succulent Alliance

It all started with my internship in the second semester of my senior year. When I first started interning at a new company, my odd-job duties included cleaning the general manager's office and, while I was at it, looking after the rather large Radermachera sinica (China doll tree) in his office. This general manager had several branch companies, and he was hardly ever around, so the plants were left entirely in my hands.

But I had never cared for a tree before. The general manager tossed off lightly, "You know how to water it and mist it, right?" Sure!

I had just stepped into society, and that diligent, devoted drive of mine - even now I admire myself for it. I didn't know when the general manager might show up, so every morning I went to his office to clean it, splash a ladle of water on the tree, and mist all the dust off the leaves. Then, satisfied, I locked the door and left.

After about ten or twenty days? When I went to clean, I found that a whole branch had fallen off the tree. I even grumbled to myself, wondering if the general manager had come by at some point and been so careless as to knock off an entire branch. So I picked it up and threw it away, splashed a ladle of water, misted the leaves, locked the door, and left.

The next day, several branches were lying on the floor, and I sensed something was off. I quickly took a branch to the manager and asked him why the tree was trying to kill itself. The manager took one look and said, "This is bad. Take me to see it, quick." The moment we entered the room, two more branches had dropped onto the floor I had just cleaned, and I got even more nervous. The manager said, "Open all the windows and doors quickly, let it air out, and we'll see after that."

It was around those few days that the general manager stopped by. Seeing that his huge tree crown had only three or five sparse branches sticking up, he called me over and said, "Find someone to carry this tree outside to air out." I hurried to do it. As the general manager was leaving, he glanced at the flowerpot again, tossed out, "No watering for half a month," and left. Damn, so serious.

The tree was carried outside, and there was no need to water it, so the room was even easier to clean. But the tree, exposed outside to wind and sun, lost all its branches, leaving a lone stick thicker than an arm standing in a big flowerpot. And the only sign that it was still alive was two green buds the size of flies sprouting from the middle of the stick. And all my hope rested on those two little green beans.

After about half a month, the general manager stopped by again. He didn't seem to care that the tree had become a stick. I thought I had dodged a bullet, but unexpectedly, after seeing off a client, he turned back before leaving and said to me, "Either water it every day, or don't water it at all. What are you waiting for, for it to die?"

I had nothing to say. It was clearly you who said no watering for half a month. Sigh, you're the boss, so whatever you say is right.

The original tree photo was lost; found a Radermachera sinica picture online

That afternoon, I got a call from the deputy general manager of another branch company, saying they had moved into a new office and lacked a plant. He remembered the general manager had a potted tree here, and since the general manager wasn't around anyway, they might as well put it in their new office. I thought, without the general manager's word, how would I dare send his things off somewhere else? At the time I just said no.

After hanging up, I told the manager about it. The manager said, "Are you stupid? That tree is almost dead. Give it to him, and if it dies in his hands, it won't all be your responsibility."

It dawned on me. I hurriedly called the deputy general manager back and arranged a car that same afternoon to send that stick over. After that, for many days there was no news from over there about the tree.

After about two months, that deputy general manager's secretary came to our company on business. I quietly asked whether those two flies had grown up. He said, "Oh, that stick? Threw it out, pot and all." I... the pot was expensive too, you know.

Later, when the leaders and colleagues were eating together, someone brought this up. The manager said, "At the time I was wearing a white dress, holding a tree branch and standing there, like Guanyin Bodhisattva." The leader chimed in, "Bodhisattva? More like a demon in disguise."

Sigh, is it really okay to mock a newcomer like this? All my passion, like a fire, instantly turned to ashes.

Another time, the general manager and a client bought a bonsai together. It wasn't convenient to carry, so it was temporarily placed in the corridor outside our office. I happened to pass by, and our deputy general manager said, "Someone stubbed out cigarette butts in the general manager's bonsai. Hurry and carry it inside to clean it up and keep it safe for now." So I moved it onto my desk and even specially gave up half my desk for the bonsai to live on. A few days later, the general manager's driver came to get the bonsai and told me, "The general manager wasn't in a hurry to move the bonsai at first, but when he passed by your office and caught sight of his bonsai on your desk, he told me it was urgent and that if we were any slower, only the pot would be left." The whole office burst out laughing.

From then on I still did odd jobs, but the plants were the one thing I no longer needed to look after.

Later, I had a Pachira aquatica (money tree) at home. I thought, this time, if I'm not so eager in caring for it, nothing should go wrong, right? But the money tree still met the same fate as the Radermachera sinica and became a stick. Supposedly this time it was because there was no ventilation and it suffocated.

When lush, it occupied a spot all to itself

In the casualty zone, resting and recuperating

After dying completely, pulled out roots and all

The ones I carefully tended died, and the ones I neglected also died. What was I supposed to do? After these two painful experiences, I summed up my failures, learned my lessons, and reached a conclusion: I can't handle this, I can't handle this. I'll just stop growing trees, okay?

After that I fell into the succulent pit. Without my former diligence, without my former attentiveness, I make do when I can, not rejoicing over succulents, not grieving over myself. As long as it's alive, fine; if it dies, it dies.

A heart of ice in a jade vase; in this life I'm willing to be a flower slave

This article was compiled by the Succulent Boutique Hall. Copyright belongs to the original author. For some articles the source cannot be identified and they are marked as from the internet. If there is any infringement, please contact us immediately and we will handle it promptly.