"You Plant A Seed, and It Grows" is as simple as one can boil it down to - the calm faith of life. Artist friend and mentor Hazel Belvo share this mantra with me years ago. Standing in my garden on a warm soon-to-be-summer day, sweat pouring, dirt sticking to said pouring sweat; my hair makes me look like Unibomber Ted Kazinski (sp?) - it's sticking straight up with a mousse of sunscreen and insect repellent. I'm a happy camper.
Really no mosquitos yet; just hoards of ticks sharing the day, reminding us humans of our place in the natural order!
What could be more amazing? Waist-high Egyptian onions; their green tubes overlapped flat. The red-veined leaves of beets, beginning to poke to the sun. Squash blossoms, which I recall eating, sauted in tacos, in Mexico. Asparagus gone to seed, taller than I. Horeradish dizzily drilling it's white roots downward. The brightest green basil leave against the red-brown soil. The tiny stringed dots of the grapevine, each plotting to grow up into a large red grape. Even the chilly white curl of the cutworm as I eject it over the fence, airborn from a shovel catapult.
You plant a seed, and it grows.
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