In the summer of 2005, as Susan and I were navigating the final machinations of purchasing Rosslyn, we were gifted a pair of ficus trees. In the days prior to our closing, the previous owner had moved out and left town. They also left behind a cat or two that had failed to cooperate on moving day. We’d been given a key and were free to come and go as purchase was imminent (and the cats needed to be fed). Susan’s mother, Shirley, had accompanied her to Burlington or Plattsburgh for errands, I no longer recollect which. In addition to cat food and plenty of house, cleaning products, they arrived at Rosslyn with two rated ficus plants. This early housewarming gift from my mother-in-law endured years of remodeling, the inevitable neglect and abuses of construction dust, wild and unpredictable temperature fluctuations, and a peripatetic parade of resting places. In today’s dispatch this durable duo of braided ficus trees stand sentry in Rosslyn’s gutted kitchen.
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It was January 29, 2007, and we were several months into the historic rehabilitation that we still believed would take a year. Maybe a year and a half. These evergreen house plants, our only house plants for quite a while, started out in the glassed-in porch that would eventually become our morning room. Late summer, perhaps into early autumn. By late September or October they had been moved into the front hallway, flanking the front door. But the space was unheated, and they were soon migrated to the parlor (aka “the green room”). Susan and I grew distracted, juggling more and more each day as Rosslyn’s rehab snowballed, and we failed to notice that the ficus trees were becoming buried in dust as demolition and deconstruction surrounded them. 
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Leaves dried and fell to the floor. Their canopies thin. Green foliage became gray with plaster dust.
Startled, we moved the plants into the by-then gutted kitchen. We painstakingly wiped the remaining leaves, fed and watered the roots, and then we waited.
Little by little pale lime green leaves began to appear, then unfurled and pushed out, filling in the bald spots.
18 years later these braided ficus trees are as tall as I am and several times wider. They thrive, despite enduring unreasonable, odds for nearly three years in the midst of a massive renovation. Trees of life. An enduring housewarming gift from my mother-in-law. Considered by some to symbolize peace and abundance, for us Ficus Benjamina has come to symbolize endurance and life.
Ficus benjamina can live for many years under the right conditions. Indoors, with proper care, it can thrive for 20 years or more. (Source: Gardenia.net)
These braided beauties were already mature when we received them, and they nearly reached to decades in our home. Needless to say, even under less-than-right conditions, it would seem that these miraculous evergreens can thrive. One of many enduring legacies of Susan’s mother!
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Today both braided ficus live in the bar, but their benevolent green endures in both the kitchen and the parlor. Vibrance. Evergreen endurance.
These last two photographs remind me how far we’ve come since the two images above. Same room. Same perspective. Totally transformed.
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It’s worth noting that even when we find Rosslyn’s rightful next owner, Shirley’s durable duo will remain with us, a bridge between homes, and a vibrant and enduring connection to a woman who might justifiably have worried about the atypical adventure, Susan and I have lived at Rosslyn and beyond, but who instead chose to live and encourage us. This pair of ficus trees are one of many daily reminders of legacy.
What do you think?