Mighty oaks

When I pruned some bushes in my mother's garden last year, I realized I knew next to nothing about how green things grow. The victims survived, though, and I managed to do a little better this year.

To further my knowledge in this area, I decided to pick up bonsai, starting from ground zero. So, last September, I gathered thirty-ish acorns to have them germinate. I put some in a bag with moist soil, some went directly in the garden, some in little plastic jars in the shed, and some in jars on the flat kitchen roof.

Some acorns in the bag germinated within weeks, developed centimeters of root , so I planted these in plastic jars, and kept them in the shed. The kitchen roof experiment was abandoned early, as the acorns planted there were stolen by birds, I suspect magpies (if they are reading this: I hope the acorns will rot in your belly).

Not much happened during winter. Every now and then I checked the plastic bag, and planted the acorns that had germinated. As soon as the temperatures started to rise above 15℃, the little jars exploded, and this week I moved the most promising candidates outside, to give them room to develop.

The Dutch have a saying "Boompje groot, plantertje dood", which implies I will probably not live to see these little oaks reaching maturity. However, I might see these growing to bonsaiable proportions in the next fifteen years or so. To be ready when the time is ripe, I will buy some cheap practice material, like Juniperus, from a nursery, to find out how not to approach this.

Looks like I am not the first one to travel the road from acorn to oak. George Bernard Shaw did this before me, and he expressed his experience better than I can:

I took an acorn and put it in a pot.
I then covered it with earth, not a lot.
Great pleasure was mine watching it grow.
The first budding green came ever so slow.
I watered my plant twice a week
I knew I would transplant it down by the creek.
One day it will be a giant oak,
To shield me from the sun a sheltering cloak.
Lovers will carve their initials in the bark,
An arrow through a heart they will leave their mark.
It will shelter those caught in a fine summers rain,
Under its leafy bows joy will be again.
Creatures of the wilds will claim it for their own,
Squirrels will reside here in their own home.
Birds will build nests and raise their young,
They will sing melodies a chorus well sung.
Under it’s branches grass will grow,
Here and there a wild flower it’s head will show.
My oak tree for hundreds of years will live.
Perhaps the most important thing I had to give.