Seeds of Learning

I'm shamelessly lifting this term, "seeds of learning," from an organization by the same name that our friends Dan and Robin have worked with. I have always appreciated the phrase; simple, straightforward, meaningful, and applicable to nearly everything we do here. Maybe one day we'll be the great oaks of the neighborhood, imparting our wisdom on other learners. But for a long time yet, we will be seedlings, reaching toward what we hope is nourishing sun, but at times getting our young heads bitten off by the pests of misunderstanding, foolishness, and foiled but valiant attempts at success.

Last night we met with our dear neighbors and friends, Don and Joni. They are seasoned growers, passionate, gracious people, and legends around here - known for their incredible skills and knowledge and open-minded, open-hearted philosophies. They have reached out to our Lostview Farm community, offering friendship and guidance in the craft of growing, as well as an opportunity to garden side-by-side with them starting this spring. For anyone who has attempted a garden of their own, with or without a green thumb, it can be a painstakingly beautiful process with great potential of blowing up in your face at any turn...weather, pests, naive mistakes, small children plucking tender sprouts...you never know what might foil your well-intended plans. So it is with great anticipation that we look towards not only learning a great deal from Don and Joni, but also towards the camaraderie of sharing in the ups and downs of the growth process.

February and March bring most of the season's snow and remnants of the bitter cold in these parts, but now is also the time that our great "garden pile" of papers and seed catalogs and notes start to take over the counter tops. I organized the big box of seed packets a couple of weeks ago, fondly straightening out the creases in the envelopes containing some of my favorite varieties: roma tomatoes, snow peas, genovese basil, beets, butternut squash. Last year, I grew bell peppers and learned to absolutely love these sweet treats that I could hardly tolerate eating in the past. This year, I will help tend the collard greens with all good intentions of finding recipes that will win me over to the benefits of this superfood.

This spring, Ellis and Owain will once again follow the process alongside us; from starting seeds indoors ("Please keep your fingers out of the peat pots - be GENTLE."), and taking the sprouts outside for a bit of sunshine each day ("Thank you for carrying those containers, but please don't pick the plants, guys."), to gingerly setting the plants into their new homes in the garden ("What great helpers you are! Keep your feet on the path and off the plants please!"). Our little seeds, learning.

I'm just a bigger seed, trying to teach our little seeds what little I know about growing. At the risk of sounding corny, the miracle is amazing. I put the seed in soil, give it some water and sunlight, do my best to see that it doesn't get stomped on, and voila, vegetables! It's no wonder Ellis is a little dumbfounded when I try to explain it to him - I am dumbfounded too. It's no coincidence that this miracle is exceedingly real to me now - as my body grows this baby with very little (conscious) effort on my part. I just have to maintain enough patience and adaptability to let nature take its incredible course. Seeds of learning. And with any luck, come June, I will be looking into the face of this new baby while sitting among baby lettuces and delicate sweet peas, the fruits of my labor.