This last Fall I bought a sweet little home and lo and behold, what majestically towered over the roof in my new backyard? A persimmon tree! I very very very much love everything persimmon (I even painted my dresser a persimmon hue), so this was obv a significant selling point for me. When the picturesque little fruits ripened, with some—a lot—of help (thank you, Luke and Kimberly), we harvested a massive amount and, minus some I shared with friends, Vivi and I (and our dog, Abby, expertly scavenging or catching fruit as it fell) DEVOURED THEM ALL.
Thank you, tree.
I miss my persimmons dearly.
So when I spotted some for sale at the grocery store I pounced, fondly anticipating their sweet, cinnamony flavor. Well. I came away disappointed; my little homegrown fruits tasted worlds better.
That realization—that homegrown foods taste indescribably yummier than their sadder store-bought counterparts—inspired me, and, at long last, this morning I planted the first of my two garden towers. I’d ungracefully dragged them inside months ago, dreaming of growing greens indoors throughout the winter. Two forevers elapsed before I actually loaded the first tower with bags of garden soil I’d drug home months before that, just for this purpose. It all just seemed like such a big, messy job, but in the end, wasn’t too bad at all.
In fact, it felt wholesome, and fun.
But as I gently covered each little seed with soil, deeply-felt gratitude and awe welled up in my heart and trickled down my face.
It’s not like I’ve never planted seeds before, but this morning the miraculousness of and reverence for Life in all its elegance just completely swept me off my feet. How could these tiny, tiny seeds produce all variety of gorgeous, lush lettuces and herbs? Tossed into the depths of cupboards for years, the little seeds, just biding their time, waited to grow into beautiful plants that will nourish my daughter and myself.
There are no words for this generous, miraculous feat of theirs.
It made me ponder the fact that we know next to nothing about anything truly important—about how Life, as a matter of course, just births and grows and creates and dies and births and grows again.
Pregnant with my daughter over six years ago, I wondered at the same thing: with no input from me besides food, water, sleep and exercise, a clump of cells blossomed into…a tiny, perfectly formed, wondrously crafted, real-life, functioning GIRL!
Hidden under all scientific fact lies…magic.
We as humans think we understand and control everything; we forget that we don’t, that we’re simply shepherds and farmers, like we’ve always been. Alone, we’re powerless to produce even one small seed with any potential for growth. We forget we are only and simply, one of many expressions of Nature enlivened by and benefitting from the Life that animates every insect, weed and tree—cultivators, yes, but also cultivated.
What an honor to share Life with all the other forms around us, living or otherwise. What an honor to become a mother. What an honor to dig in the dirt, to plant a seed and watch it grow.
What a fantastical, unbelievable gift to be alive.
I totally agree. Another quality of seeds that I find intriguing and possibly even a lesson for humans, is their ability to draw towards them the nutrients from the soil that fuels its growth.
You reap what you sow in ALL ways. The energy you put into your plants was then re-harvested by your body. Imagine the energy of the “person” who grew the fruit you bought at the sore. And yes always, magic