I woke up to a sky of dark clouds and air filled with smoke from fires in a distant wildlife refuge. The atmosphere matched my mood. I drifted from one thing to another, aimlessly. Then my husband said, "Didn't you say you were going to plant seeds?"
|"Blue Lake" bush bean seeds ready to be covered with soil.|
As soon as I began poking my finger in the earth, I felt happy. The soil was moist and warm. I dropped the bean seeds in one by one, then tucked them in with earth and patted the soil with bare hands. I planted a second row of Swiss chard, my favorite summer green. It's easy to grow and lasts all summer if you keep cutting the leaves.
|Swiss chard tastes great, takes the heat and is ornamental, too.|
When I began gardening, I lacked faith. I couldn't quite believe that these tiny, dry, odd-shaped objects called seeds could transform themselves into plants. In those days, I bought all my plants at the nursery, where I could see them and touch them as proof they were real.
Now I love seeds, and prefer growing plants from seeds because I still can't get over the miracle. How does a dry little thing that sits in a paper packet for months or years know when its day comes? How do seeds know how to grow?