Seeds of Spring

I remember my mother's sweet peas.  She planted them each spring on the fence facing the driveway.  She soaked the seeds in a bowl of water which she left on the kitchen counter over night.  The seeds were hard and had to be soften in order to sprout.  By mid July the fence was a riot of color and covered with sweet pea vines.  Their fragrance hung heavy in the air. The more you picked the blooms the more the plants produced.   Mom had an old pair of scissors she used as flower shears.  It was my job or rather my pleasure to clip the sweet peas.  The stems had to be clipped to the very bottom to encourage longer stem growth.  There was always a bouquet on the end table or kitchen table filling the house with a heady perfume.


 Never have I been able to duplicate the sweet peas my mother grew.  Perhaps I don't have that magic touch just meant for sweet peas.  But when spring comes the flower fever always grabs me and makes me think I can perform miracles in the yard.  Pots I swear I will never fill again are drug out and bags of dirt purchased to refresh last years over worked dirt.  I buy annuals to fill in the empty spots between the perennials.  This year, In a moment of weakness, I planted seeds.  I know our growing season is short and the seeds with struggle to  reach maturity.  In spite of all my negativity, I have been rewarded with small green sprouts pushing up through the dirt.



The pots are hosting a variety of flowers and eating up the sunshine and copious amounts of fertilizer.  There are no sweet peas, but hopefully I will have asters, zinnias, marigolds, black eyed Susan's and other surprises in the mixture to pick for my table.  Whatever I reap is a gift and meant to be enjoyed.  Big harvest or small I'll be ready to do it all over again next spring.