Standing on the edge of some great magnetic chasm and the only thing I can think about is seeds. Tiny little round ones and even tinier moon shaped ribs. Seeds that bare rich aromas and flavors and others that can be crushed or boiled to make life lifting medicine. But most specifically, right now, I'm dreaming of the seeds that came from last years harvest. The Waltham Butternut that I hope to the garden goddess I saved a few of. The thin packets of round goodness that will provide a summers worth of reds, purples and greens hanging from thickened stalks and vines.
This years garden is gaining momentum in my mind and I am about ready to put those seeds in some soil and moisten their microscopic bellies. This year I plan on extending my growing space to the Hillsdale Park Community Garden. But that is another story in itself. I also plan on making the strip in front of my house, where this year I grew a bumble bee beacon of sunflowers, into a tomato maize. I'm a little nervous about people coming and taking my fruit, but I'm learning to think of things in terms of not what I have but what we all have. And we all are going to grow tomatoes, hundreds of tomatoes. hopefully hundreds of pounds of tomatoes. There's a meaty variety that I fiddled with last year that gives large, thick, paste tomatoes, called Opalka. Unfortunately I gave away all of my good plants and only had one fruit with viable seed, which I ate. So I am left somewhat longing for that thick paste tomato. I just ordered some seeds from Moonlight Micro Farm in Florida, a long way off for beets and some kale. But worth it for good heirloom seeds.
This last week I attended a training for the new community garden that we're starting. I met a few people who have gone through the same process we are in creating a community space. I was thoroughly refreshed to be part of a discussion about what a community garden means and who it's for. I was much sustained by the talk that a community garden is not only for growing food but for growing friendships. I find myself at a point in my life where friendships are more real than they've ever been, but also fewer. Quality is good, but I'm interested in cultivating quantity as well. If only to fill a few of the voids that are left by those missing in action. It seems that as I go through life it's more and more rare to connect to people around me. The reasons that use o be enough, no longer attract. I don't necessarily want it to be this way. But I'm grateful for those relationships that are able to be fed and nurtured even from old roots and especially those where words flow like water. Either in trickling streams or gushes that moisten the earth around new seeds, new roots emerging to form new kinds of relationships and boundaries. I hope though, that I find newness in myself in this garden chasm and form new roots from new seeds in a freshly tilled ground.
This years garden is gaining momentum in my mind and I am about ready to put those seeds in some soil and moisten their microscopic bellies. This year I plan on extending my growing space to the Hillsdale Park Community Garden. But that is another story in itself. I also plan on making the strip in front of my house, where this year I grew a bumble bee beacon of sunflowers, into a tomato maize. I'm a little nervous about people coming and taking my fruit, but I'm learning to think of things in terms of not what I have but what we all have. And we all are going to grow tomatoes, hundreds of tomatoes. hopefully hundreds of pounds of tomatoes. There's a meaty variety that I fiddled with last year that gives large, thick, paste tomatoes, called Opalka. Unfortunately I gave away all of my good plants and only had one fruit with viable seed, which I ate. So I am left somewhat longing for that thick paste tomato. I just ordered some seeds from Moonlight Micro Farm in Florida, a long way off for beets and some kale. But worth it for good heirloom seeds.
This last week I attended a training for the new community garden that we're starting. I met a few people who have gone through the same process we are in creating a community space. I was thoroughly refreshed to be part of a discussion about what a community garden means and who it's for. I was much sustained by the talk that a community garden is not only for growing food but for growing friendships. I find myself at a point in my life where friendships are more real than they've ever been, but also fewer. Quality is good, but I'm interested in cultivating quantity as well. If only to fill a few of the voids that are left by those missing in action. It seems that as I go through life it's more and more rare to connect to people around me. The reasons that use o be enough, no longer attract. I don't necessarily want it to be this way. But I'm grateful for those relationships that are able to be fed and nurtured even from old roots and especially those where words flow like water. Either in trickling streams or gushes that moisten the earth around new seeds, new roots emerging to form new kinds of relationships and boundaries. I hope though, that I find newness in myself in this garden chasm and form new roots from new seeds in a freshly tilled ground.
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