Source: Deep Learning on Medium
We each had a side of the heavy bag, maneuvering around various farm supplies without saying a word. There is something so sweet about working with another human and never really saying a word just moving and reading each other.
The troth was full in no time with half of that stuff. Aaron and I talked about how if only it were a concrete block higher, our backs would hurt as bad. Then he came by with a couple blocks. Anna made an enormous bouquet in the meantime; it must have has at least one bloom from every plant on the farm.
After soaking the soil and filling the plastic trays — some from Korea that were geometric and sturdy, some that were flimsy and needed doubling up — we put seeds in. In compacted soil with a tiny supplement pile to the left of my hands, I dropped two or three tiny seeds into finger-sized holes. It was slow and delicate.
Some of them need light to germinate so you simply pat them down with your hand as if only to experience the feel of the soil on your flattened palm. I told Anna that it felt like the rainforest. She replied, “hmm”.
Then came the vermiculite. Oh what a beautiful word to recite. Some kind of parmesan shaker substance that sits on top of the new planted seeds to help them germinate.
At this point I guess there was no height of table that’d keep your back from aching in even the smallest way.
But it seemed like all of us — Anna, Aaron, the puppy Willet, the seeds and me were all pretty grateful to be planting. To help babies grow. Take care of them so that they’d have the chance to live and end in the glory of someone’s entry way after a few months of being born.
We talk about how flowers have to be cut and die for others to grow, for them to be enjoyed. How many metaphors can be created from the cool air that kills things but works together with the sun to bring them back to life months later? But we don’t talk a ton about the seeds. About who plants them and did they use their right or left pointer finger to dig the hole for the seed?
What a somber process to be planting seeds that won’t show us themselves for awhile. To appreciate their newness. Slowness, patience. Oh what a wonder it is to be planting seeds.