During my first spring at Lost Valley, I was working out in the garden with two interns when my inquisitive three year-old daughter came along. Having just finished prepping a bed, we began to sow while engaged in discussion about something lofty and ponderous. I acknowledged Ariel's presence by stroking her head full of curls.
She stood at my side for a few minutes looking pensive before she inquired, "Hey Mama, why you are planting seeds?"
In a teaching/work mode, I blurted in reply, "Ariel, we're planting seeds because it's time to sow our spring crops. We've just finished sheet mulching this bed and we're planting seeds into the sifted compost layer on top."
"But why, Mama?" asked Ariel.
"Well, because we want to grow our own food. We want to be more self-reliant..."
Ariel interrupted, now rather frustrated, "But why you are planting seeds, Mama?"
"Ariel, we're planting mountain spinach, calendula, borage, and..."
"But why?" Ariel pleaded.
"But why what, Ariel?" I retorted.
Ariel persisted, "Why you are planting seeds?!?"
This exchange continued a few more times, with me searching seriously for a suitable answer, while trying to maintain my composure. Finally, throwing my arms into the air, I said, "Ariel, we're planting seeds because we like to plant seeds!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Ariel with great relief, and she ran off...
One morning the next spring, I was transplanting brassicas. My plan was to finish out four flats before moving on to the rest of the ten things I had on my list and intended to finish that day. Along came Ariel, "Can I help?" she asked.
"Sure," I responded, trying to hide my slight reluctance, knowing that help from a four year-old isn't always as conducive to productivity as I would desire. Nonetheless, Ariel gleefully picked up a trowel and plunged it wholeheartedly into the soil. I showed her how to place a kale plant firmly into the ground, so that it stood up straight, and then water it in. She proceeded to attempt transplanting as I tried to keep my gasps and instructions to a minimum.
After a few minutes, she sat contentedly singing to and petting the "babies" she'd planted. Then, looking up at me, she noted my pace and reprimanded me for my haste. "Mom, be gentle with the babies, you have to sing to each one and touch them like this," she demonstrated. I felt my resistance and agitation rise. Sighing, I envisioned things on my list being transferred to the next day--surrender is sweet, but painful.
"You're right, Ariel," and I joined her impromptu creation of a song, letting her lead. "And the su-un brings you-u light, a-a-and ke-eps you warm, fairies dancing all a-a-round...," we sang off key in operatic style. Pretty soon we were alternating making up each line; and then it became a rhyming game and the verses got more and more absurd until we were both making up nonsense and laughing hysterically.
All of a sudden, Ariel stood up, ran over and jumped on my back, knocking me over from a squatting position, and we both tumbled into the path, laughing. Ariel flung her arms around me, kissed my cheek and proclaimed, "I love you, Mommy!" and promptly got up and ran off to find her buddy, Matthew.
I went back to planting, singing to each "baby" kale, collard, and broccoli as I worked. The words of Wendell Berry came to mind, "we're not growing food, we're growing people!"
Julianne Tilt is a mother, gardener, herbalist, Lost Valley community member, and co-facilitator of our Apprenticeship programs.
�1998 Talking Leaves
Spring/Summer 1998
Volume 8, Number 1
Education for an Ecological Society
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