There are Thousands of People Who Do Not Sow Seeds

I had the radical thought the other day that not everyone sows seeds. I know, I know: of course not. But I have to admit that as a long-time gardener, a real botanical obsessor and someone living & working so closely with plants as to not know what it’s like to not do so anymore, I forget. I forget that late winter doesn’t mean, necessarily, for everyone, that it’s time to haul out the grow lights, seed starting soil, trays, and shelves. Many many people are not obsessively counting back from the last frost date (April 15 in the greater Seattle area) in order to know when to sow their different varieties. So many people don’t try to sow their microscopic lisianthus seeds and grow them for an inordinately long time before pricking them on and potting them up. They do not sweat fungal gnats. They do not dread too-high humidity, too-low heat, too-high heat and too-low humidity. They don’t adjust their grow lights on a daily basis so that the seedlings do not stretch for the light.

Thousands upon thousands of people are not canceling other plans so they can spend their Saturdays and Sundays with their seedlings. Ever so many people do not traipse back and forth from said seedlings many many times of day (and night!) to check on their growth. Countless people do not try succession growing, and then fail at it and then try again (and again.) Someone out there—some persons out there—some many persons out there—are not, I repeat, are not, pausing outside their seedling’s door to collect themselves and put on a smile so that they bring only positive growing energy to their plants. Hundreds of people don’t talk to their seedlings. They don’t tell them “Excellent growth! Wow, you’re growing so, so well!  You’re so healthy! It’s amazing how quickly you’re growing, and how strong! You’re doing amazing work: keep it up—you’re wonderful!”

Some people don’t remove the dome off their newly-sown seedling trays and spill the condensed water down onto the front of their shirts, or straight down onto their sock-covered feet. Thousands, if not millions, do not—I repeat—do not squeal, and then press their hands to their cheeks and bend low over their trays of just-sprouted plants and simply gaze, and gaze. They don’t bring every person—and I mean every person—who comes to their home to see their seeds. They don’t struggle to not look perplexed when said people do not express the same level of awe, wonder and excitement as they do. So many people do not feel that strange combination of pride, triumph and sadness when their seedlings—no longer babies, they—graduate out into the big bad world; hardening off. Countless do not feel that ripcurrent-strong maternal pull of relief when those same plants are brought back into the seedling room after just a few hours, so as not to send the plants into shock. Baby steps, letting plants out into the world. Baby steps, letting go.

There is a certain percentage of the people in this world—a high percentage—who don’t know what it’s like to feel your wrists actually start to break from holding the watering can at such a precise angle to fill the trays underneath the seedling trays—watering from below means nothing to them. Nothing. What is watering from below? Sounds like a bidet. Who knows how many people don’t agonize or at least feel a twinge when thinning their seedlings? What hordes of people never try to replant those thinned seedlings. What hordes never admit defeat when those “lesser” seedlings with their long, thin stems and yellow-green leaves finally, inevitably die after mere hours or possibly days? What scores never experience sometimes managing to save those thinned seedlings and grow them to better-than-okay maturity like Fern with her Wilbur?

There are literally millions of people who do not live their lives in that ocean swell of sowing, growing, thinning, pricking, potting, hardening, and, finally, finally, finally, planting out. They are not noticing they have soil beneath their nails and then deciding it doesn’t matter, as they’re just going to get more in there. They’re not truly, authentically and almost crazily joyous when their seeds sprout, when they produce those two true leaves, and, especially, when they grow. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands do not think of April 15 as the last frost date instead of tax day. There are so, so many who do not, and will not be thinking about any of these things. Not a single one. I hadn’t realized, or at least remembered. And then I did.