Thursday, December 15, 2011


The red radish seed sneaks across the US border breathing Wa-hah-kan busses. Three days of sneaking. Guns. Dogs. Desert. Grown by two acres of latinos next to my garden, Nelida gives her saved seed... As she tore the plant out of the ground and shoved it into my trunk, I savored saving seed for the first time. Last winter, we de-shelled each of Nelida’s radish seed by hand and planted them in the spring. We ate radishes this year and behind me is next year’s Wa-hah-kan radish seed crop; it is heirloom, organic, open pollinated, and spicy. Now the seed waits to be gathered in, stored deep in the barn. How does plant life correlate to death? Embedded in the dying breath is next years life. The frozen death in Narnia becomes a thawed dance in Aslan’s sovereign paw, deeper magic from before the dawn of time.

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