A Few Seeds More

The dangerous joy of a gardener's winter -- especially a gardener whose optimism and imagination far outpace his knowledge and experience -- is getting lost in the flutter of seed catalogs newly descending as the new year approaches.  "New this season" joins with "perennial favorite" to entice one indulgence after another.  Over the weekend I three times clicked on the "checkout now" button of the seed companies' online catalog sites; heirlooms, open-pollinated, and all manner of saved seeds, from the familiar asparagus ("Purple Passion" and "Jersey Supreme") and beans ("Taylor Strain", "Black Jet" ) and Brussels Sprouts ("Nautic"), to the ever curious kolrabi ("Korridor" and "Azur Star"), the thematically obligatory rutabaga ("American Purple Top"), the reliable Swiss Chard ("Fordhook Giant" and "Bright Lights"), and the essential peppers, squashes, tomatillos and tomatoes (too many varieties to count).  I even managed to find seeds for the Padron peppers we enjoyed as an appetizer at a restaurant in Napa Valley. 

It is a "dangerous joy" because the "joy" part of the phrase can get expensive.  Sure, the packets of seed aren't much -- from around $3 to just over $5 -- but, alas, it adds up.  Like pushing your tray through a cafeteria line, everything looks good, and you came hungry.  I put some novelties on my tray -- like the striped Asian eggplant, the Christmas lima beans, egg yolk tomato and the round tomato shaped pimento -- along with some aesthetics -- like the zinnias and strawflowers.  A Texas gardener wouldn't want to try and make it through without a couple varieties of okra and a good stand of collard greens.  I can already taste the poblanos and anchos, and my mouth waters in anticipation of a softball-sized Brandywine tomato.  All of which is to say that my purchases were broad and deep.  But, hey, they are seeds -- the promise of things to come!

It's not without some reticence of realism.  My garden will never be more prolific, I know, than it is in my imagination, right now before a single seed is sown.  It is, I understand, a labor-intensive risk to actually go through with the project.  It's easier, after all, to just talk about it -- grandly, sweepingly, philosophically, nobly.  It gets dirtier, sweatier and more exhausting from here. 

And yet this is what we came here for.  In fact, it almost seems redundant to order seeds, in this place where everything about this endeavor has to do with seeds already planted.  Dreams, imagination, lives, Spirit -- seeds of a very different variety carefully and naively palmed and carried to this new beginning and thumbed into what already feels like fertile soil -- at least for the soul's prosperity.  With all of this abundance, why not a few hundred seeds more?