“Convince me that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders.”
~ Henry David Thoreau
The wind has quieted and sun warms my shoulders as I work in solitude and silence, the only one in the community garden. I rake the soil, put stepping “stones” in place, and ponder the best place to plant things this season.
I form a shallow trench with my hands, then pluck a white plastic marker from my bucket of supplies and write with my Sharpie: Red Russian Kale. I sprinkle a few seeds from the packet into my left hand and pause.
The seeds are so small and I am caught up in the wonder that they will produce enough food to nourish us throughout the summer and long into the winter. I remember that I’ve still got kale in the freezer from last year’s garden, and make a mental note to make some soup to use it up soon.
I pinch a few seeds from the palm of my hand and drop them sparingly into the trench, mindful of the need to thin the plants when they come up. I stop halfway across the row and place a marker across it: I’ll sow Darkibor kale in the rest of the row.
I continue the slow, mindful, miracle-making process with seeds for arugula, radishes, and Hakurei salad turnips. When I’m finished, I put the tools and seed packets back in my bucket, take everything to the car, and return to the garden to water.
Best gardening practice is not to water with a sprayer–irrigation hoses and sprinkles are more effective, especially in the heat of summer–but I love doing it this way. I stand with my sprayer admiring the growth, imagining what will be, pondering this-or-that, at complete peace.
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Yesterday I showed you the lilacs buds just beginning to form. I took this photo last year at this time. As you can see, it’s an entirely different spring this year.