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The tradition started when she was a toddler. Each year we would take an assortment of seed packets, carefully deliberating which to use that certain year and how many sections of the tray to use for each. When she got older, maybe around 5 or 6, I would ask her to write down the date and expected germination time, leave a column for the actual germination date in a handmade chart. Then she would make little flags for identifying the plants on the growing trays – made out of popsicle sticks and paper – name of plant and date seed planted. We loved watching the process as the tiny green forms would poke up and little curlicues forced the granules of potting soil out of their way to the sun. For my daughter, it was also a lesson in watering: accountability and responsibility.
“Baby Plantas” became the trademark name. In early spring around our household you would inevitably hear someone yelp, “We gotta do Baby Plantas!” One particular spring of 2010, we peaked at the most planting we had ever done. Two trays. Large trays. We had basil, corn, jalapeños, zinnias, and the flower that is my must every year: morning glories. I love this one variety of large periwinkle to royal blue flowers. They creep up heartily in the late summer in the back of the yard, even if only a few survive the relentless snails. I can still remember their blooms, shockingly neon in comparison to the grey Northern California skies, as I stood in front of the bathroom window facing the backyard, while I brushed my teeth in the mornings.
Even the corn yielded that summer. I would admire the pregnant bulge on the side of the stalk about a foot from the base. The telltale corn hairs sticking out of what would eventually be a full ear of corn. As always, nature does its thing. It is wondrous to be there to witness it. For almost two decades, I have shared this with my daughter. As I watched the blooms on my way out the door with the work-thoughts-head on those mornings, I still paused to marvel…Zinnias in hot pink and lipstick red, grown from little fragile seeds. I wonder if she will someday pass on Baby Plantas to her children. I think of my mom and Hila instilling in me the importance of growing things. Venerating fruit trees and vegetables – my mom slowly touring the perimeter of my house and gasping at the huge roses and the lemon tree. “You have good soil.” It made my heart proud.
And then, I don’t wonder if my sweet daughter will pass it on. I know this will be within her. And in a world where sometimes harried life and immigration sever people from their ancestry, I realize this is my family tradition.
Dedication for my one and only, my young Virginia....
Silencio - performed by Omara Portuondo and Ibrahim Ferrer
www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mStndtGGOE
“Baby Plantas” became the trademark name. In early spring around our household you would inevitably hear someone yelp, “We gotta do Baby Plantas!” One particular spring of 2010, we peaked at the most planting we had ever done. Two trays. Large trays. We had basil, corn, jalapeños, zinnias, and the flower that is my must every year: morning glories. I love this one variety of large periwinkle to royal blue flowers. They creep up heartily in the late summer in the back of the yard, even if only a few survive the relentless snails. I can still remember their blooms, shockingly neon in comparison to the grey Northern California skies, as I stood in front of the bathroom window facing the backyard, while I brushed my teeth in the mornings.
Even the corn yielded that summer. I would admire the pregnant bulge on the side of the stalk about a foot from the base. The telltale corn hairs sticking out of what would eventually be a full ear of corn. As always, nature does its thing. It is wondrous to be there to witness it. For almost two decades, I have shared this with my daughter. As I watched the blooms on my way out the door with the work-thoughts-head on those mornings, I still paused to marvel…Zinnias in hot pink and lipstick red, grown from little fragile seeds. I wonder if she will someday pass on Baby Plantas to her children. I think of my mom and Hila instilling in me the importance of growing things. Venerating fruit trees and vegetables – my mom slowly touring the perimeter of my house and gasping at the huge roses and the lemon tree. “You have good soil.” It made my heart proud.
And then, I don’t wonder if my sweet daughter will pass it on. I know this will be within her. And in a world where sometimes harried life and immigration sever people from their ancestry, I realize this is my family tradition.
Dedication for my one and only, my young Virginia....
Silencio - performed by Omara Portuondo and Ibrahim Ferrer
www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mStndtGGOE