All over the world gardeners walk the land in the cool of the morning, noting the best plants of the season. At harvest that seed is saved, and some, but not all, will be planted the following year.
Farmers and gardeners live the generational knowledge that crops can fail, and seed most be held in reserve for replanting.
In human history of turbulent weather and earth changes, peoples forced by starvation "to eat their seed corn" either moved on to richer lands, or stole the crops of others, or didn't make it.
Enter Monsanto, the corporate-blight attempting to destroy locally-adapted heirloom seed stocks, by imposing monoculture of genetically-tortured seed. Which must be purchased anew each year from Monsanto.
Farmers, generally sensible folk, have not lost their minds, though many have lost their independence and livelihood to Monsanto.
Thousands upon thousands of competent farmers in India have lost their hope--crop failure, un-payable debt, and no seed saved, thanks to the GMO juggernaut. They terminate that danse macabre, by drinking Monsanto agri-poisons.
Yesterday I sat on the porch swing with a lap of dried winter squash seed from the Pueblo. Seed saved from time out of mind, through drought and frosts, generations of careful harvest.
I had bought the apricot-colored, soccer-ball sized squash in October, and scraped out the seedy pulp from the orange flesh of the longest keeper--eaten in July!
I rubbed each seed to separate it from the papery covering, and have a jarful of plump, luminous teardrop-shaped seed. Wealth of an ancient sort, which can grow and be shared.
The garden is tumbling bounty of luscious heirloom tomatoes, "brandywines." An old mountain lady, a matriarch of Appalachia, had taught me to save tomato seed by smearing the juicy interior of the best fruit on a paper towel or napkin.
When dry, the paper is tucked into a sealed jar, and (some of) the seed planted in spring. Some will be held in reserve, just in case.
Great splashes of color cascade down the rock wall of the large round center garden--scarlet gleam nasturtiums, much-loved by honeybees and humming birds and an astonishing moth--compact body and wings striped--bigger than a bumblebee, smaller than a hummer. And very busy.
I gathered plump nasturtium seed they've fertilized, and seed of Grandpa Ott's morning glory, royal purple with a burgundy star. Am letting the sweet peas go to seed now after months of delirious fragrance.
Have just had a peek at the Pleiades, and the scent of tuberose fills the garden. When the plants die back, tropical not mountain-al, I'll dig the bulbs and save them as perfume-trove for next spring planting.
A friend with marvelous handyman skills will come today to help me with chores which flummox this female--repairing an old, old, comfy rocker, a thrift shop find; sanding and painting a rust spot on the old car, from my backing into a cottonwood while tenting in Pagosa Springs.
He gawked at the monster fruit tree which nearly buried me, and will help me trellis a massive wisteria, saving me from my own exuberance.
I, in turn, have mended a sweater for him, and have prepared serious "eats." Barter lives.
As governments careen into more obvious bankruptcy and pillage of the Commons, I suspect more and more quiet exchanges of skills and goods will under-gird local economies.
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wonderful writing and wisdom, as always, thank you!
ReplyDeleteThank you Wayfarer - your words paint such a peaceful picture and they bring me much comfort. It's nice to know that in spite of what's going on on this poor, dear Earth of ours there are still sweetpeas to sniff and beauty to be found. I do find myself wishing that this shift that is occuring would just hurry up and shift already. I want this new world that we're building in our hearts. It's so difficult to straddle the two.
ReplyDeleteThank you both. As to shift occurring (yesterday please already), gradual may be a mercy, given the magnitude of global change.
ReplyDeleteHere's an unsuccessful-barter anecdote, for example.
We expedite a thought form by acting on it. When it's a business sort of transaction, better do more than "hope" for integrity. Here's a case of my recently getting shnookered:
As mentioned in an earlier story, I did gardening work for a traveling CEO neighbor, around twenty hours of leisurely pleasurable stuff on my part. We agreed on a barter; we "shook on it." Translation: I did not get it in writing.
When it came time for him to make the agreement whole, he reneged--It was inconvenient for him to fulfill his end of the bargain.
So, I learned yet again about interacting with predator sorts of energy, and he burnt his bridges to a helpful neighbor. We learn by doing.
My handyman friend will arrive shortly on bicycle with his tool kit, and we'll have a grand meal. All in all, life is very good.
Wayfarer, I forgot to ask. Have you read "The Ringing Cedars of Russia" series written by Vladimir Megre? I've just now finished the first book and to me it was utterly, remarkably beautiful. It speaks to me of the way that we are meant to live, and will one day again, sooner than later. And as all other things in life, it begins with a thought.
ReplyDeleteHm, crowfeather. Will look for it at the library, thank you, when I return The Family--about "elite fundamentalism" which operates behind the scenes of US government--Jesus as CEO, with Hitler and Genghis Khan as successful role models. I hope the author, Jeff Sharlet, is in line for a Pulitzer.
ReplyDeleteLovely. Thank you so much.
ReplyDeleteMmamallama, good journey and brilliant canyon nights to you and the goofy Newfie. Muddy river for him to splash in and river of stars overhead.
ReplyDelete