After an enlightening but disturbing interview this fall about how divisive the presidential election was about to be, I turned away from my computer and microphone, went outside, and started digging. I planted more than 300 bulbs - daffodils, tulips, crocuses and alliums. We’re in Madison, Wisconsin, and it still will probably snow at least one more time, but the green leaves from these bulbs are just now popping up. I’ve pored through my favorite seed catalogs and a box of seeds – cilantro, parsley, beans, swiss chard, spinach and more – has arrived. Some chives from last year are emerging already. I’m trying to wait until Mother’s Day to plant the seeds, when the ground is finally and officially not frozen.
Seeds are beautiful and natural, but they are anything but simple. This weekend, we are re-airing “Who Owns Seeds?” which includes interviews with Bob Quinn, Robin Wall Kimmerer and Cary Fowler, along with a seed adventure with reporter Seth Jovaag. It turns out seeds are complicated – historically, politically and personally.
Still, there is something so undeniably hopeful about planting. Even more during this time of sickness and racial injustice. I took the photo above on State Street in Madison just after George Floyd was killed and protests were ongoing. The words are originally attributed to Greek poet Dinos Christianopoulos who died recently in 2020. He wrote: “They tried to bury us, but they didn’t know we were seeds.” His words have resonated with indigenous people in Mexico, who have translated the proverb, and with artists and store owners in our Midwestern town. I hope things are growing and being planted wherever you are.
–Shannon