I have a home on the small island of St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands, a place I don’t get to be very often because of family obligations.

That said…I’m a plant person. Ever since I was a little kid and my parents gave me my own small strip of ground behind the garage, I’ve marveled at the way things grow. I planted my first rock garden—rocks being my other love—when I was 12. And the interior of the many of the homes I’ve occupied during my travels through eight states always had plants pretty much everywhere.

I mention this because there are no plants in my home in St. Croix. The logic is simple, really. My sweetie pie and I haven’t been able to stay in our little place on the hillside overlooking Christiansted Harbor for more than a few weeks at a time. Whenever I would look longingly at an orchid in full bloom or some happy, glossy-leafed tropical, he’d say, “It will just die when we leave.” So, I’d gently put it back on the shelf.

Until yesterday.

I was walking through Home Depot, one of the only big-box stores on the island, where we were in the garden center looking for a new hose. Out of habit, I perused the plants and as I rounded one corner I noticed a garbage can filled to the brim. On top of that pile of dead and dying plants was a little bonsai tree in a gray ceramic pot.

I don’t know why I fished it out of the trash, but when I held it up, I noticed some brown leaves, though certainly not enough to indicate the tree was dying. I held the pot in both hands and looked around, wondering why anyone would have thrown the little tree away. Then I carried it over to Ryan. I was surprised when he didn’t remind me that we would be headed back to Phoenix in a few weeks.

I walked over to the customer service counter and was directed to a man named Dane. I explained that the tree had been dumped in the trash and wondered if, under the circumstances, he might lower the $22 sticker price. He looked at me like I was a bit odd, then pulled a black marker from his top pocket and scrawled $6 on the bottom of the pot along with his name.

When I got home, I plucked the brown leaves, checked the moisture level, and then placed the pot on the table on the porch. I must admit here that I haven’t had much luck with bonsai trees in the past, but I’m willing to give it another try. And, when I head home to Phoenix, I’ll leave it with a friend who will tend to it while I’m gone.

The bonsai seems quite happy right now. But it’s funny that sometimes when I look at it I don’t see a tree. I see second chances. I have failed and tried again on many endevours over the years, but I’m not sure I’ve always appreciated the opportunity to give things another go.

Now…I will.

Anne Montgomery’s novels can be found wherever books are sold.

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