Coffee Beans

It doesn’t happen often but every once and awhile a friend entrusts me with a living thing they care about. As a semi-successful mom, you’d think someone would ask me to watch their kids, but it’s always cats, dogs or bean plants. And they all flourish under my care.

Except the bean plants.

“Can you take William’s bean plant while we’re gone? He planted seeds for his class. One sprouted and is doing quite well.” I looked at the droopy stalk and agreed. A little benign neglect is all it needed to thrive, just like my kids.

The plant in its industrial strength gray ceramic pot sat under a window and grew stronger and greener daily. The tiny bean pods were a pleasant surprise. William had showed me the buds, but he was five--what did he know?--and I didn’t think a plant that small would pollinate. Hadn’t it overheard the abstinence-only sex-ed lessons?

I heard once that coffee grounds make great fertilizer for ferns so I figure cold coffee must be a magic elixir for all houseplants. My kid’s first science fair project will be studying the growth rate of plants nourished with water, coffee and decaf. My theory-wait, I mean, my kid’s hypothesis will be that the one grown with coffee will grow tall and full and produce many buds but no real bean pods and that the decaf bean plant would grow tall and thin and eventually tie itself into a knot and die leaving behind a note reading, “What’s the point really?” I poured leftover cold coffee on the plant every day.

William’s bean plant was flourishing and, to my surprise, the bean pods continued to bulk up. I often brewed an extra pot of coffee so we could share a moment. Its tiny stamen perked up whenever I started the coffee grinder. I began imagining returning the plant to young William, his eyes misting at the mighty bean plant with its tendrils’ firm grip on the chopstick stake, the bulging bean pods hanging precariously from their stems, the soil smelling of Italian roast. Mannheim Steamroller would play softly in the background.

Then, the cat ate it.

The main stalk remained, but the leaves and pods were gone. I was devastated. William would be so disillusioned; his mother had told him not to worry about his plant because I was taking care of it and I had a green thumb. He would have trust issues after that. I’m sure the bean plant did.

William would be gone another two weeks so I had time to nurse the plant back to health. I found a warmer, sunnier home for it. I protected it from our cat. I made extra strong coffee. The bean plant greened up and leafed out, but didn’t produce any more bean buds.

As their arrival date got closer, I panicked. I sent Danny to the nursery searching for bean plants. Luckily it was spring and the nursery was full of tiny plants. Just not bean plants. Danny returned with a bell pepper plant (its leaves were the right shape), a tomato plant (it had tiny yellow flower buds, just like the bean plant) and a periwinkle (it was pretty).

We looked for suitable substitutions growing in our yard and the woods nearby. Nothing came close, but that was a good thing--our yard is home to a poisonous vine that only a week of taking steroids and soaking in a tub of oatmeal and calamine lotion can soothe.

The bean plant became my coffee klatch of one. I would idly savor an afternoon cup while the bean plant waited patiently for the remaining coffee to cool. I would make a mental list of the remaining tasks of my daily grind and the plant, mutilated and bound in its pot, would alternately dream of retribution and imagine playing the James Caan role in the remake of “Misery.” Too much coffee will do that.

When William's family returned home, I avoided them for as long as possible. Their calls went to voice mail, I emailed my responses rather than taking the chance that my friend or William would ask about the plant. After a while though, I was confident that they’d forgotten about the plant and invited them over for a playdate.

William asked about the plant as soon as he had taken off his coat and his mother had finished slathering him with Germ-X. By then the bean plant was full and leafy and I figured the bean pods would not be missed. His mom was impressed that the plant was still alive. “Look, William, she did a great job with your plant! See how much it’s grown?” William looked at the plant skeptically but reluctantly agreed that I had done a great job. I sipped my coffee and nodded, basking in the glow of a job well done and disaster averted.

As they left, bean plant in hand, William whispered to his mom, “I think she stole the beans. They’re gone.” Later, I explained what we had gone through and my friend was amused and heartened by my genuine concern for the plant and her son’s feelings. I think she was about to ask me to babysit William when he walked in. And that’s when the words came out.

“Oh, while you were gone, I had the most delicious three bean salad. Do you want the recipe?”

Coffee will do that.