October 2017: Sunflowers - For The Birds!

There is so much pleasure to be gained from planting seeds!  Its a science lesson in miracles, harkening back to elementary school days of styrofoam cups and weak, thin stems reaching for the sun on un-winterized window sills. Classmates' names etched in ink on masking tape.

First buds poking through the soil, the seedlings go home, either to languish on a sunless kitchen counter through busy family days or to end up in a sunny pot, nurtured. Those that make it into a garden, with a child's watching eye, the miracle of the experiment stays with us forever. 

As the 6th child of a city gardener and early-60s composter, my mother planted a third of our suburban Toronto backyard with food. Tomatoes, spinach, swiss chard, carrots, rhubarb, beans, snow peas, a stint of berries, and at almost 50 years later, I can still count the rows. She relied on these vegetables to round out our diet and one spring, my eldest brother surprised her with a rototiller, the rental fee coming from the fruits of her employed, first child. Come fall, our basement piano was surrounded by hundreds of ripening tomatoes, half of us gingerly navigating towards our dad-built bedrooms so as to not squish the produce. The smell of a green tomato can still take me back to those days of my childhood home and late fall harvests.

She gave me my first garden bed, a narrow 3-foot strip culled from the edge of the cement brick patio abutting our post-war era bungalow's back wall, "The best place to catch the warmth of the sun", she cooed. Hollyhock seeds she gave me, their lore linked to fruitfulness and ambition, a plant tall and majestic despite its preference for poor, infertile soil. I've since grown hollyhocks in every home we've owned.

Now a gardener at heart, I've created some beauty in the spots I've been a steward of, for a gardener is just that - the steward of the piece of earth one currently inhabits. I bring plants with me from place to place, I plant seeds and rooted cuttings from species native to the area, hoping to replenish my current patch of earth with the flora that once was. Its a quiet endeavour, rooted in simplicity, respect for ecosystems, helping to attract beneficial insects, birds and wildlife.

A recent move has brought me to an urban center, a milieu I've not lived in for close to 3 decades. Our rented century brick home sits on a neglected urban lot, filled with violets, my neighbour's intruding hydrangeas, deadening Lilacs, an ailing Crimson Leaf Maple, hostas and too many roaming cats. Used to succession planting bringing me a bevy of flowering bouquets throughout the year, I face our new reality with a sense of defeat. How do I approach this? A pastime once so loved, now seems daunting, and not mine to own.

Last spring, I find out about a Seed Exchange, or Seedy Sunday as its known in this town. There is a solid movement here to replenish, depave, to encourage pollinator gardens, to become better stewards of our own patch of earth, some of the inspiration I need in my new urban. I mark my calendar and attend, with hundreds of others, the event where vendors sell their wares, their seeds, their seedlings,  inform, teach, where people connect with one another over this shared interest. I find the back kitchen room in this church basement that hosts the Seed Exchange, and many people are milling about, checking out the tiny envelopes with handwritten Latin names, reminding me so much of those early styrofoam sunflower cups.

I come upon the sunflower seeds, along with Datura, or Angel Trumpets, which I've also grown in every bed I've owned, as tribute to an older woman in my life who showed me this blooms' beauty. I come home with a sense of purpose, a way to mark my urban lot with my own signature. I set up my seed trays, find this house's sunny spots, and await the miracles to begin.

Hundreds of seedlings line my windowsills by early May, relegating shelf trinkets back to their packing boxes. By planting time, I've got 40 sturdy seedlings and into bigger pots they go, hardening off in the warming days before being planted in their own patch of earth. Not knowing what to expect, I plant the sturdiest dozen sunflowers in 3 different locations. Not amending the soil too much, I hope for the best.  By July, in my sunniest spot, they're 6 feet high, by August, close to 10. By bloom's time, the sunflower pod is as big as a dinner plate. My opposite neighbour, of the no-hydrangeas variety, reports that their 2nd-floor staircase-window frames the blooms perfectly as they descend each day, and I explain to their young children what this adventure is all about. 

Such miracles! And the rural wildlife I miss so much?  Bluejays, squirrels, chipmunks and an invasive Eurasian bird I've yet to identify feed daily on the seeds. As first frosts descend, I'm trying to keep the blooms planted for as long as possible, and have culled some for drying to hang as a winter feed experiment.  All in all, a very successful and satisfying urban garden adventure!

Thank you to Seedy Sunday, its hosts, visionaries, vendors, seed cullers. I'm drying my own seeds this year - heirloom marigolds, zinnias, hyacinth, datura - and will be marking my own little envelopes with masking tape and ink, sharing the wealth of what has been more than a few seeds given to me in my new home last spring.

Sheila,

October 20, 2017