Will Walk for Seeds

A few weeks ago I attended an event hosted by the The Hardy Plant Society of Oregon entitled "Seed Collecting: Where the Wild Things Grow with Steve Newall". Reflecting on the experience—that of meeting and listening to the exploits of a real seed collector and seed grower—has been good for me.

Sitting down to talk with Steve was really centering for me since due to my current life situation I've been a bit uneasy in general. Everything in my life is still swirling around but my love and interest in seeds is always there in the middle of it all. (Imagine my comfort in knowing that seeds are immovable in this windy storm and I cling to them and they make me feel so good. It's so silly but it's all true.)  

To talk to someone who truly understands me was really soothing during a time in life when there are so few healing balms other than self-inflicted silence and self-discovery. These things might sound great, but when it really matters, and a lot is on the line, there can be a frightening bleakness to the darkness as you sit watching and listening to it while your impatience grows. The seeds that germinate in this darkness are scary to me, but I am patient enough now to sit through the process even if it's really hard for me to sit still sometimes. 

How do you tell the people around you that you want to create a life where you're able to run off and collect seeds when you feel like it? It's not like I do this for science! I am an Amateur Bot-ann-ist after all. For me it's just this compulsion that comes from deep inside that drives me to love seed propagation and I just cannot get enough. 

I was told it was, like, a skill. How odd!?!

So seed spotting is now what I jokingly refer to as my super power. Too bad I'm not a super hero though...

Asclepias speciosa seeds I collected last year.

If I could I'd spend all day working and thinking about seeds. How I came to this, I'll never know. Maybe it's genetic so I'll just thank my forefathers and foremothers.

Ricinus communis seeds from Loree over at Danger Garden.

But this past week I had another major HAE swelling attack from all the activity and emotional stuff going on in my life. I anticipated it though because I knew that driving 6 hours by myself was not a great idea—especially after walking over 20 miles last week. 

It made me doubt I could be a seed hunter, but that doubt passed rather quickly and I redoubled my efforts by getting some advice from my chiropractor. I'm now targeting key muscles groups that are weaker than they should be and I'm hoping this will help me to overcome some of the exhaustion I've been experiencing. (Never underestimate the pain that can be caused when one group of muscles repeatedly overcompensates for another.) 

Staircase at Mount Tabor Park. I trotted up these stairs for the first time last week at a pace I was almost proud of and it felt great.

So during this "rest" week I've been sorting and cleaning the house—including my workspace—and it's obvious how strongly I've resisted dealing with a lot of my own personal things up until now. I'm grasping them though, both literally and figuratively, and am thinking more and more about seeds as summer has started and there will be more and more of them soon.

As a matter of fact, I've already asked one friend to accompany me on a seed collecting trip. I've always gone by myself because I haven't ventured very far into the wild in awhile. I am going to dip my toe into that pool soon. I don't expect much, but it's the act itself that's already beginning to change me.

Lunaria annua might be a weed, but its seedpods will always be a favorite of mine. 

There are these little things that are popping up in the darkness inside of me that I've been staring into for awhile now. They are sprouting and seeking out the light. My eyes are so sore from starting into the abyss for this long, but I think it's time for me to sit back and breathe a sigh of relief.

Some of the many stairs in Mount Tabor Park. 

I walk now and it's not about the past so much, it's about my future. Funny how I see seeds everywhere I go and when I do I always think of hope.

More of the Mount Tabor stairway.

The silence that used to bother me so much is becoming more and more the memory of who I am and who I once was but had forgotten. 

Calendula officinalis seeds. 

I think of the silence often now that surrounds the life of seeds since the lives of plants are so quiet compared to ours.

So often I meet gardeners who tell me they're afraid to grow plants from seed because seedlings are so delicate and weak they're afraid they'll hurt or kill them.

This always makes me chuckle a little bit.

Aurinia saxatilis seeds.

Yes, the activity might require some patience and careful observation but never underestimate the power of any living plant or animal that wants to survive—and this might also be applicable to some of the people you know in your own life.

Someday it might even apply to you.