Mother's Day

Today is the day I plant seeds. First, I set out all of my planting containers and fill them with potting soil, and then, I gather the seeds. 

The seeds are stored in envelopes and paper bags and plastic baggies, collected back in the fall or given to me, the dried-up marigold heads and zinnia, the basil and cleomes (which are big blobby brightly colored Dr. Suess-like flowers), the lettuce that bolted in summer, the red beans and black. All of the seeds have a story and the stories are all about gifts. 

The beans, for example, came from a farmer in New York near where my son and daughter-in-law live. Last year we helped the farmer dig holes in his field and he served us dinner, and as we were leaving, he handed me five black beans and five red. The cleome seeds were given to me by a neighbor after I told her how much I loved her “Dr. Seuss plants.” The marigolds are a gift from myself, several falls ago when I realized I didn’t need to buy these seeds, they were there all along, hundreds of them, in each cluster of blooms. 

Drop the seeds in the containers, add a bit more dirt. Water. Label, so I will remember. (I am big on remembering.) The process takes me all morning, and I am so grateful for this kind of meditative, lose-yourself-in-the-moment kind of activity. The second Sunday in May is always the day I plant my seeds. In central Ohio, it’s officially the start of the growing season—no more freezes or frosts (we hope!) 

It also happens to coincide with Mother’s Day. To put it mildly, I have mixed feelings about this day. I am a mother and I love being a mother. I am a daughter and this is where it gets tricky. For most of my life the daughter part of me took up an absurdly outsized portion of my brain. I don’t know how to explain it. 

Some of us grow where we are planted. Some of us are like the seeds dropped by birds and watered by kindly strangers. 

It’s warm outside while I work and lovely. When I’m finished planting, I have many more seeds left than I have containers to put them in. This happens every year and I am grateful for this too, a gift for those who have gifted me. 

A story.