THE JADE PLANT

"She had a tremendous green thumb...."

My mother was very talented. She was a full-time nursing home administrator until she was 72, but she could also sew and knit and crochet and play bridge and canasta and mahjong and she was an amazing cook. Somehow I didn’t learn any of it—I just didn’t pay attention! Oh my gosh, why didn’t I? The one thing she did that I can do too is keep plants alive. She had a tremendous green thumb; when she died she had over 100 plants, and in her lifetime she gave away probably thousands. Somebody would say, “Oh, that’s an attractive plant!” and she’d make a cutting and soon they’d have a beautiful growing thing that they’d admired.

The day I was born—a very snowy day in March 1953—my mother told my father she was ready to go to the hospital, and he said, “Oh, I don’t think so. I think it takes a little while longer.” He’d been married before and already had two daughters, so he thought he was the expert. But she said, “No, I really think we should go now.” He said, “It’s very snowy out there, we should wait. You can’t find anything to occupy your time?” She said, “If you don’t get the car ready, I’m calling the ambulance.”

But she realized it was going to take him a while to shovel the car out, so she decided she’d futz around with some plants. She took a cutting from a jade plant and put it in a little pot, and then finally my father was ready to go. 

I grew up with that plant. It went through a lot over the years, including almost dying once when I was a kid. I said, “Oh, Mom, this is the plant from when I was born!” and she said, “Not to worry, we’ll start a new one and try to nurse this one back to health.” She didn’t believe in chemicals, so she’d make a solution of soapy water and bring the plant to the bathtub—what a production!—but sure enough it lived.

My mother died in 2012. I had already inherited the jade, when she’d developed dementia a few years earlier. I’ve never made it grow as well as she did, it’s broken off lots of stems, it’s had insect issues, and some deer did a number on it this summer, but it’s now about five feet tall, and I’ve made countless cuttings, including the one you see here. The original plant lives outside in summer; in winter I rent it space in a nearby greenhouse. The last time my husband carried it home, he said, “Really? How long are we going to do this? I’m in my seventies, do we have a timeline?” And I said, “I’m not ready. I’m not ready.” So, we’ll see.

I didn’t have room for all the things I wanted to keep as remembrances of my mother. But as it turns out, the jade is perfect because it so embodies who she was. Maintaining plants takes patience, sensitivity, nurturing, and the ability to not be discouraged by failure. In the same way that the jade plant thrives in my home, my mother still thrives in my heart and the hearts of everyone she touched. She was kind, generous, creative, socially conscious, and attuned to people from all walks of life. Oh, and by the way, she was right. They never did make it to the hospital on time. I was born in the back seat of the car.

—Gale Kobray