Harvesting the Yard

Why must beauty wither to bear fruit?

On the Eastern Shore of Virginia, grand old houses have names. Salt Works. End View. Cedar Grove, Oak Grove, Locust Grove. Chatham, Grapeland, Selma. Happy Union (that's my favorite). In Cape Charles the houses have more modern names. Do-Little Cottage, Southern Living, Pelican Place, Gone to the Beach.

So, Chad and I named our home Bayflower. It's appropriate, since we live two houses from the Chesapeake, and our front yard is a solid mass of flowers.

This year, volunteer zinnias took over. Even the rose garden was swamped with them. We didn't plant any, they sprouted from last year's dropped seeds. It was glorious, an entire yard full of vibrating color, butterflies, bees, and a pair of immature hummingbirds that were as small as insects. We spend lots of time sitting on the porch, gazing at the garden and the nearby dunes.

Then it got cool, and the zinnias started turning brown. We knew we would have to rip them up soon. As I meditated on the fading garden, I thought: "Seeds! Harvest the seeds and sell them. It won't earn much money, but at least they won't go to waste!"

Chad and I spent many afternoons in September picking dried seed heads. We filled plastic bags with them. I looked like I was picking cotton, wading through the tall growth, snapping off the ripe "fruit" and leaving the blooming buds. Suddenly, my beach house was a flower farm! It felt good, harvesting what was free and would otherwise be wasted. Primal.

Then we had to separate all those seeds from the hard inner cone, arms covered with the crumbled dust of powdered petals. I bought some pretty green organza bags to fill to the brim with future flowers, and now they are in my store, waiting to be broadcast around the country.

I feel like the zinnia version of Johnny Appleseed. It's fun to imagine them spreading wildly, taking over the Eastern Shore ditches and roadsides and woodlot edges. Wouldn't that be lovely? An explosion of beauty! It would be a great example of how Life blossoms and spreads without  our permission, independent from human will. Un-political. Unstoppable. A tsunami of bayflowers.