The mechanics of creating such a living objet d'art are complex and compelling. The caretaker must be attuned to the plant and be ready to provide for its every need. This may include watering or syringing several times a day, providing shade during peak sunlight hours and sheltering the plant from wayward winds. In the colder months, a bonsai may need to be placed in a cold frame or, in truly cold climates, stored dormant in a gently warmed greenhouse.
This cyclical care is ongoing and never-ending, the plant is dependent on human intervention seven days a week and quite often more than once a day. It is awesome in its fragility.
I am astounded that literally generations of people may have cared for a single specimen for decades, for longer than a century. The tree could be older than me. And somebody has cared for it, relentlessly, each and every day, day in and day out. Woe to the careless one who lapses.
Now, I am a cold hearted realist and recognize my own inability to punch the clock so to speak. So I gave up on the idea of bonsai, for the most part. I still love to look at them and caress them with my eyes like the museum pieces they are. I linger and admire bonsai collections such as that at the National Arboretum or Longwood Gardens; such are treasures the likes of which I know I could never undertake to reproduce. Similarly, I would never presume to take responsibility for such venerable creations for I'm sure I would be the star crossed one who "forgets" as no one has before.
On the other hand, I hate to give up. I am not a quitter. And I like to think laterally. So I am taking an alternate route. I am into potato bonsai. They are "easy keepers" and rewarding beyond imagination.
Actually, I cheated. My inspiration came to me when my husband received, as a gift, a kit: The Art of the Bonsai Potato Kit: Zen Without the Wait -- I'm not kidding and, yes, it is trademarked.
So -- with or without the kit (although it is a commendable effort complete with an instructive and witty little book of how-to and wry commentary) -- if you have a dark closet or little-used kitchen cupboard, you can grow one too. (I keep mine in with the cake baking pans where I peek oh, not too often.)
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