From a coat I haven’t worn in a couple weeks.
A Lenape pole bean named for Hannah Freeman.
An African legume eaten throughout the tropical world.
Lots of brown pods spilling emerald angular seeds of a mucilaginous mallow family leaf vegetable that grows taller than me.
I’m like a large fleshy squirrel.
My pockets are like the matted furs of mammoth legs carrying sticky clingy seeds across the continent.
My fingers are like a family of field rodents, scurrying from plant to den, plant to den, storing up for the winter.
But what’s different, I suppose, is the intention to plant them again, right where I want them to grow.
However, I did forget about them for a couple weeks, and now they are renegade seeds, separate from the bigger harvests, in a random pile.
I have random piles in other coats, on dressers, in drinking cups, scattered on floors, in basement jars.
Sometimes, occasionally, individuals in these lost piles are found again, and sometimes it’s a glorious reunion: a variety presumed gone, a variety since crossed, a variety to plant at home that very moment in a spare patch of soil.
Sometimes, occasionally, the pile gets tossed into a vacant lot or abandoned garden with a prayer and a hope for survivors and thrivers who can elbow out the weeds and live a long productive life.
I pray and hope that same fate for me and you too, and for our seeds that are still yet to come and on their way.
We’ve made it this far!
It’s the title of this post, and also a directive! Be the fleshy squirrel.