The Search for Perfect Seed

The search for perfect seed took a friend and I to Logan, Utah. We were mostly hunting for seed potatoes and sweet pea seeds. We were guilty of breaking with the “shop local” theme to head out of state for these garden supplies. However, we were also on our way to the famed “Anderson Seed” that local word of mouth guarantees are not your common garden supplies. I’m not sure how wide--spread the store’s fame is, but a little old lady guaranteed the seed she bought there grew the best sweet peas. I have to believe what she said is true because Verda’s sweet peas (planted on Good Friday each year) that graced her fence every single summer were legend. This feisty lady was a widow for many years, never had any children, and I think she put all that unspent love into growing beautiful, fragrant blooms. She maintained it was the seed.

Anderson Seed is right in the older downtown district and when I first walked in, I didn’t realize what an experience I was going to have. We walked towards the back of the store and my heart started to beat a little faster when I saw the small green garden plants in their little four and six packs. Then, when I spied the beautiful blooming ranunculus my heart went wild. The search for seeds were forgotten as I walked up and down rows and was lost in dreams of beautiful summer gardens.

Thirty minutes later, I realized that my friend was checked out and waiting for me. She had bags of seed potatoes and packets of seeds. I had a basket full of small green plants. I walked to the seed counter. I was about to ask for sweet peas when I saw the giant pumpkin seeds. “I’ll take some of those.” Jared, the man behind the counter counted enough pumpkin seeds for two hills. I asked for double. Then I bought baby pumpkins, white pumpkins and Cinderella. Jared told me that an LDS bishop in Providence, Utah had given each family in his ward three giant pumpkin seeds for a fall contest. Jared had seen a steady trickle of people come in to the store from Providence, all wanting to know the secrets of growing a giant pumpkin, and one happy customer after another left with the secrets. Then Jared shared the same secrets with me that he had with all the Providence families. I left Anderson Seed with $20 worth of pumpkin seeds and a lot more than that spent on green plants. Early tomatoes! Early flower blooms! Lincoln County Fair, here I come! And, I was going to have the biggest pumpkin anyone in my family had ever grown. These were the thoughts as I headed home. I forgot the sweet pea seed and I overspent but it was going to be worth it!

The next day, my children left the front door open and the icy Wyoming wind howled in my front door all day, right onto my little plants. Pumpkin contest, anyone?

"The Search for Perfect Seed" originally published in my Love.Life.Politics. Column in the Kemmerer Gazette, 2007.

Rulon Gardner at Trolley Square

Salt Lake City is where I spent a few days recently. While there, I kept a journal of thoughts and writings, just a random collection of the life going on around me. Sometimes I analyzed life as I wrote. The collection included short stories I was told, bits and pieces of conversation overheard in the hotel lobbies and my own feelings and observations, recorded sequentially in a spiral notebook. Several times the question was asked if I was writing a book, perhaps because of the furious scribbling. There was no goal in mind, just a few days and some time to record life.

Reviewing the handwritten notes later, I was surprised at the thoughts recorded one evening. I became aware again that all of us take the life around us and somehow assimilate it into our existence, our conscious or subconscious, and then we go on. The “going on” part is easier to do when life isn’t hitting close to home, obviously, because I was able to eat cotton candy at Trolley Square.

That evening I recorded:
Trolley Square, a small mall. I find the Trolley Taffy Station. Here I spy a collection of laminated news articles from the February 12, 2007 shootings at this mall. I pick one victim and read, Teresa Ellis. I stop to analyze, wonder why I picked that one from all the names listed, then, it becomes obvious. My 2nd son is named Ellis. So obvious but it was a subconscious choice. Cotton Candy is $1.75 a bag. Cold water is $1 a bottle. I decide to buy, mostly because of the display of articles. I debate. Pink? Purple? Blue? Yellow? White? Mixed? I go with the pink, isn’t cotton candy supposed to be pink? When I pay, I ask if the display is the only one in Trolley Square. The girl behind the counter looks puzzled. I point to the articles only inches away. “I think so,” she replies. I tell her thanks. I mean for the cotton candy and the articles.

I step back to take a picture. Flash. A whisper behind the counter, one girl to another, “Did she take a picture?” I ask, “Is it ok?” The reply comes, “Sure.” Flash. I take another. I buy pink cotton candy just 8 weeks after the fatal shootings. My husband and I watched all the night news coverage at home in Wyoming. Trolley Square was distant then.

Something catches my eye. Suddenly, I’m not sure if I took the picture solely because of the shooting articles or because of the Got Milk? ad of “Rulon Gardner, Dairy King”. I hadn’t noticed Rulon’s ad before now, consciously. The ad is signed, “To the best taffy in town.” He’s hanging, smiling, adjacent to the laminated articles describing the shootings. I’m glad he’s there, our Wyoming Olympic hero. The pink cotton candy bag in my hand is confusing to me, like Rulon hanging next to the shooting articles. They both seem out of place but they are both comforting.

I contemplate death while eating pink cotton candy.

Originally published as "Cotton Candy at Trolley Square" in my Love.Life.Politics column of the Kemmerer Gazette, 2007.

Dedication

Voices fill the room. Nearby, “We’ll start on bench, I guess.” From across the room, “We need to change the weights.” Another corner, “You’re doing sit-ups while we’re doing jumps.” An explanation, “And then there are breaks between the music and we switch.” Finally, “So whose in front of me so I can follow them?”

The controlled commotion in the weight room is fun. It’s fairly early on a Monday morning, 7 a.m. 10 girls have shown up to do morning weights. The music starts and the athletes begin training. An 11th one arrives a little late. “Hello’s” are given to her from around the room, greetings from all.

Up and down, clink, jump, jump, jump. The sounds of different stations fill the air. The music stops and not a word is spoken as the girls rotate stations. Up and down, clink, jump, jump, jump. The patterns repeats as the girls start their new stations in the high school weight room. It repeats over and over as the music starts and stops.

I wonder, as I watch and listen, if they realize they are setting a pattern that can be used the rest of their lives. The weight training is good, many of us have forgotten, or never began, weight training. The commitment to their future teams is admirable. Wanting to take advantage of summer mornings to not lose the conditioning of the previous seasons. Wanting to increase jump, reach, strength. All good. However, the pattern I wonder if they know about is the constant, small efforts that make improvements over time.

The dedication is to be here, to improve self, others. It’s early. The girls don’t need to be here. Many have summer jobs, home chores. They are young, healthy, lives ahead of them. Youth is a gift given for such a short period of time. There are other things they could be doing with their time. Dedication is something to be learned and youth is a great time to learn it.

Perhaps, and most likely, the 30 minutes in the gym are for reasons other than self improvement. Socialization, being a part of the crowd, wanting to be seen. Perhaps, but that’s o.k. The seed is being planted. We can’t become what we want to become without work and dedication. Up and down, clink, jump, jump, jump. Repetitive, maybe even boring, but not static. Small steps leading to stronger tomorrows. Time is up. Weights fall silent. The girls leave the room. Future teams are being built by individuals making small but steady progress. Future goals being worked towards by dedicated individuals. When they unite as teams, they will become stronger still.

“Dedication” - originally published in my "Love.Life.Politics" column of the Kemmerer Gazette, 2007.