planting seeds

Spring is upon us, which means deep clouds crossing the afternoon skies, rain puddles to splash in, and seeds to nestle into the earth. Because we're very slowly working our way towards getting our house ready to put on the market, I've been doing some grooming of the more wily places on our property. The previous owners were landscapers, so all the plants were gone but lovely stone curves were left, ready to be filled. When we moved in, I plunked in a raspberry bush, and one autumn, Ryan trimmed it back a bit too voraciously, which killed the main plant, but you know how those runners can be.

So the runners are coming out too and into those empty spaces, places where walnut trees are sallying forth and strange, unknown vines, I'm putting in clusters of flowers. The kids are helping, which I'm hoping means they'll get a little less--well, destructive, when it comes to places in which they can alter the landscape. But isn't that what it's all about? Funneling that energy into constructive projects.

So we dug holes and filled them with plants and seeds. We counted worms. We talked about the good spiders do, about beetles, about root systems, and Maya now knows how to name and identify a taproot.

I can't help but think, too, about the talk of roots when we moved from Chattanooga to the Midwest--and how the kids feel about letting this house go and to make a new home. About home being the four of us (along with a pair of dogs). Taproots.