Sowing mania starts to strike, but there is no need to panic
I am carrying around seed like a squirrel with a pouch, never knowing when I might need it. Like the start of a love affair, it’s hard to think of anything else. I’m daydreaming about rows of baby plants being born.
The three Trail of Tears beans I always have in my pocket (try explaining that to, say, Peruvian customs when they pat you down) are now almost a mixed handful. You see, I might be able to steal away, in a lunchtime window, an early morning or evening. I hear the longing call of land.
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