And so it begins...again...this ancient springtime ritual, a thing repeated generation after generation and world wide from the beginning of humankind. It is a rite so basic and so vital to man's existence that I can think of few other acts that better display the commonality of men across the ages and the planet. Despite all our attempts at improving the process, it seems to me that there is no substitute for the profound and hope filled act of setting seed to soil. It is a mysterious event that binds us to the earth and gives us pause as we consider the mystery of the seed and the sprout.
I for one, love to stand and ogle the seed packs in their glorious display racks at the garden aisle. I cannot help myself from stopping to gaze upon the vast array of plant choices. It doesn't matter how many seeds I already have or how few I really intend to plant, still I love to linger over the descriptions and lust after the pictured plants. I thrill at the way every plant has its own grand merits and even a few inherent weaknesses just waiting to be discovered. Plants remind me, in that way, of all the people I have known. Each one is unique, bearing many gifts and surprises if I will but open my heart to them.
So, it is that time of year again. And I am busy doing what ancient relatives must also have done. I am thinking of seeds and buying and trading seeds. I am putting a few into pots and sitting them in sunny windows to get a head start on spring. It is a good thing to do. It is a time honored tradition and it speaks of hope.
And God said, "Look! I have given you the seed-bearing plants throughout the earth and all the fruit trees for your food. Genesis 1:29
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