2,304 seeds

By Christine Tailer
HCP columnist

Perhaps there is a song here. I can almost hear it in the back of my mind, 2,304 seeds, but song or not, I do know, is that there is a story.

Last week, I floated 18 Styrofoam trays, each tray made up of 128 cells. Each conical cell had a small hole at its bottom, so that when it was filled with seed starting medium, water from my float bed could wick up into the cell. I carefully placed one or two seeds in each cell, and carefully labeled each row of seeds so I would know what they were. After three days of working contentedly at my greenhouse bench, I finally set the last tray afloat.

I looked down at the 2,304 floating seeds and then at my hands. My dirt encrusted fingernails perfectly complimented my stained fingers, and I had no doubt that my face was streaked with complimenting smudges left behind from brushing strands of hair back behind my ears. It had been a perfect three days. It was a time of mindless productivity.

As I spread dirt across the trays, tamped it down, and then the teased the individual seeds from their paper envelopes into the cells, my mind wandered easily. I imagined that all 2,304 seeds were my offspring, my progeny. I tenderly tucked each one into the light soil and then drew up its covers with a sprinkle of dirt that I gently patted down around it. I then set each tray of 128 seeds afloat, wishing them a bon voyage as I pushed them off into the float bed pool, where they would take root and grow, in time setting their roots down into the water below.

Much like the differences between our own, now grown, children, I imagined the differences between each tray of seedling progeny. I imagined how the two trays of orange and yellow marigolds would grow into my sweet smelling garden guards as they repelled unwanted pests. I love to walk among them, deadheading as I go, their scent surrounding me and lingering on my fingers.

I think of the tomatoes as my most jolly offspring. Their cherub round shapes and happy colors spread wholesome joy. Red, orange, yellow and purple, smiles abound.

And I love the way the sweet tomatoes stand in complimentary contrast to the feisty hot peppers. Their colors might be the same, but the peppers' spice imparts fiery adventure, while the sweet peppers' smiles impart a juicy crunch.

And oh how I love the sweet white onion!  Its surprising gentle flavor can be enjoyed right in the garden. Imagine popping a cherry tomato into your mouth and biting down as its sun warmed flavor washes across your tongue, only to be followed by a nibble of sweet onion and a bite of sweet pepper. This my friends, is true late summer joy.

But, oh my. When thinking of sweetness, I cannot forget dear cantaloupe. She is so perfectly well behaved everywhere she goes. Breakfast, lunch or dinner, she is always ready to please. She even happily rises to the occasion for a midday snack. I love her so, and I even love her messy brother, watermelon. Spitting seeds off the front porch, red water dripping from my fingertips and down my chin, I cannot help but smile.

Dear basil sports so many flavors, sweet, chocolate and lemon. Summer squash never tires, though I confess that I might.

Winter squash is so warm and loving on a chilly night, and I delight at the blank canvas of the hardshell gourds that inspire my wintertime creations.

Each of these, and so many others, now lie floating in what I know will be the perfect garden. All of their varied potential lies silently waiting to unfurl. Several weeks of waiting will be followed by days of carefully transplanting each one out into my garden and raised beds. There I will tend to them and watch them grow, all 2,304 of this summer's progeny. Life really is grand.

Christine Tailer is an attorney and former city dweller who moved several years ago, with her husband, Greg, to an off-grid farm in Ohio south-central Ohio. Visit them on the web at straightcreekvalleyfarm.com.