Simple Things/ Lang Kenneth Haynes
Seeds
Seeds
Seeds can be thought to have several characteristics: They turn into something else. They require certain kinds of nourishment. Their growth is influenced by
the environments in which they mature. The qualities of the resulting fruit (for example, the sweetness or bitterness, nutritional content, size and longevity) are
influenced by the environment in which they grow and the care they receive. They lose potency if not planted within a certain period of time. They are what’re
left after the fruit flowers. They can produce better fruit with each generation. They can die if not planted.
Aside from the actual plant-producing seed, the seed concept has enjoyed popularity for a long, long time. Seed thoughts, seed money, bad seed are a few
examples. Other references to seeds take the forms of references to germination or fruition. Any way you look at it we seem to be fascinated with the idea of
something becoming something else. The first step that grows into a journey of one thousand miles. The ugly duckling that turns into a swan. The grub that
emerges from its cocoon as a beautiful butterfly. Maybe a reason for our fascination is that we are all in the process of becoming something else. We are growing
and changing every second whether we welcome the changes or avoid them. Perhaps another reason for the addiction to change is that we often don’t know
when our efforts will bear fruit, but we continue to sow the seeds because it makes sense in ways that we feel in our guts.
Vegetable seeds require certain conditions for planting if they are to eventually yield the best produce. Basil seeds like to be planted in early June when the
soil temperature is at least 70 degrees. Broccoli seeds can tolerate a lower soil temperature of around 65 degrees so they can usually be sown in May or June.
Kale likes to be planted in soil that’s between 65 and 85 degrees but it should usually be planted later, in early July, because it is very hardy, and laughs at the
first few frosts which means that it is often the last edible thing in the fall garden. In fact some say -and I agree - that Kale is sweeter and tastier after a frost or two.
But unlike vegetables and other plants, it is always planting season for thoughts. The thoughts we possess now take on different forms at some point in time. It
doesn’t matter if it’s summer, winter, autumn or spring. Thoughts are unaffected by climate and the relative warmth of the earth. Thoughts become words, words
become actions and our actions help to define our characters. Something like that. There are many variations on this theme. But any way you look at it,
everything that exists outside of Nature — which was created by the Master Builder — first took the form of an idea. So be careful what you think because what
you think may become what you say and you may have to literally eat your words some day.
And it gets even stranger. It’s my guess — and it’s just a guess — that memories, relationships and the items attached to them resurface in assorted ways over
our lifetimes. Maybe I’m the only one who has had these kinds of experiences, but I doubt it. (I’m reminded of the comedian D.L. Hughley’s line, “Come on. I
know it’s not just me.”) My mother, father and I took a train trip to Tennessee when I was a little under three years old. I remember details of the trip that I’m told I
can’t possibly remember, but here’s one of them: When we finally arrived in the little town of Paris, Tennessee, my grandmother’s house (on my father’s side) filled
with relatives and friends. The adults readied themselves to go out on the town to celebrate the visit of my father, the prodigal son. This was an adults-only affair
which meant that I had to stay at home with my grandmother. I had not met her before this trip, but she was familiar to me through photos and stories my father
told. She was a stern-looking woman with a firm unyielding jaw, wire-rimmed glasses and eyes that looked like warm coals in a snow bank. I was afraid of her. My
mother and father disappeared in an entourage of cars, laughter and pieces of old stories shouted simultaneously. When the hubbub subsided, I was sitting on a
living room couch in a strange house in a strange land that reeked of the kind of history that can turn a person’s hair white. And then something miraculous
happened. My grandmother softened right before my eyes. She smiled at me and put her warm, soft hand on my shoulder as she placed a toy cow on the living
room coffee table. “I thought you might like to play with this,” she said. The cow was black and white and one of the legs was broken off. Many years later I
realized that the cow was a Holstein. This realization came to me while milking my own cows in Clyde, Wisconsin.
When I was 10 years old, my grandmother (on my mother’s side) gave me a white, stuffed toy poodle for Christmas. I hated the thing at first. It certainly wasn’t
on my Christmas list and it wasn’t the kind of present I was going to brag to my friends about. It was hard for me to figure out what had been going on in my
grandmother’s mind for her to get me such a gift. Then I got to love the damn thing. I don’t know how it happened, but the stuffed dog and I became good
friends. Long and short of it is that I now have a white Toy Poodle named Rupert and he is an absolute joy. A pain at times, but a joy. A dog was not on my list of
things to acquire and if I had wanted a dog I doubt that a Toy Poodle would have been my stated preference. But here he is.
I was fascinated with boats as a kid. There’s nothing mysterious about this. I grew up across the highway from the East River that separated Manhattan and
Brooklyn and I’d see all kinds of boats every day. I guess I was about eight years old when I decided to build a boat of my very own in my bedroom. I used blocks
for the sides and a broken alarm clock for a motor. Needless to say, I never got it together but I did have a small boat many years later and I spent many a day on
Lake Monona cruising around.
Funny thing is that the farming, dog and boat experiences came upon me in unexpected ways. I didn’t consciously plan for any of these things to happen.
Maybe the moral of the story is to be mindful of the things and thoughts you fill this moment with because they will be parts of your future in ways that it may be
very difficult to imagine at the moment. How did a New York City boy end up milking cows on a farm in Wisconsin? I don’t know. Maybe the miniature toy cow my
Tennessee grandmother gave me to play with 56 years ago had something to do with it.
the environments in which they mature. The qualities of the resulting fruit (for example, the sweetness or bitterness, nutritional content, size and longevity) are
influenced by the environment in which they grow and the care they receive. They lose potency if not planted within a certain period of time. They are what’re
left after the fruit flowers. They can produce better fruit with each generation. They can die if not planted.
Aside from the actual plant-producing seed, the seed concept has enjoyed popularity for a long, long time. Seed thoughts, seed money, bad seed are a few
examples. Other references to seeds take the forms of references to germination or fruition. Any way you look at it we seem to be fascinated with the idea of
something becoming something else. The first step that grows into a journey of one thousand miles. The ugly duckling that turns into a swan. The grub that
emerges from its cocoon as a beautiful butterfly. Maybe a reason for our fascination is that we are all in the process of becoming something else. We are growing
and changing every second whether we welcome the changes or avoid them. Perhaps another reason for the addiction to change is that we often don’t know
when our efforts will bear fruit, but we continue to sow the seeds because it makes sense in ways that we feel in our guts.
Vegetable seeds require certain conditions for planting if they are to eventually yield the best produce. Basil seeds like to be planted in early June when the
soil temperature is at least 70 degrees. Broccoli seeds can tolerate a lower soil temperature of around 65 degrees so they can usually be sown in May or June.
Kale likes to be planted in soil that’s between 65 and 85 degrees but it should usually be planted later, in early July, because it is very hardy, and laughs at the
first few frosts which means that it is often the last edible thing in the fall garden. In fact some say -and I agree - that Kale is sweeter and tastier after a frost or two.
But unlike vegetables and other plants, it is always planting season for thoughts. The thoughts we possess now take on different forms at some point in time. It
doesn’t matter if it’s summer, winter, autumn or spring. Thoughts are unaffected by climate and the relative warmth of the earth. Thoughts become words, words
become actions and our actions help to define our characters. Something like that. There are many variations on this theme. But any way you look at it,
everything that exists outside of Nature — which was created by the Master Builder — first took the form of an idea. So be careful what you think because what
you think may become what you say and you may have to literally eat your words some day.
And it gets even stranger. It’s my guess — and it’s just a guess — that memories, relationships and the items attached to them resurface in assorted ways over
our lifetimes. Maybe I’m the only one who has had these kinds of experiences, but I doubt it. (I’m reminded of the comedian D.L. Hughley’s line, “Come on. I
know it’s not just me.”) My mother, father and I took a train trip to Tennessee when I was a little under three years old. I remember details of the trip that I’m told I
can’t possibly remember, but here’s one of them: When we finally arrived in the little town of Paris, Tennessee, my grandmother’s house (on my father’s side) filled
with relatives and friends. The adults readied themselves to go out on the town to celebrate the visit of my father, the prodigal son. This was an adults-only affair
which meant that I had to stay at home with my grandmother. I had not met her before this trip, but she was familiar to me through photos and stories my father
told. She was a stern-looking woman with a firm unyielding jaw, wire-rimmed glasses and eyes that looked like warm coals in a snow bank. I was afraid of her. My
mother and father disappeared in an entourage of cars, laughter and pieces of old stories shouted simultaneously. When the hubbub subsided, I was sitting on a
living room couch in a strange house in a strange land that reeked of the kind of history that can turn a person’s hair white. And then something miraculous
happened. My grandmother softened right before my eyes. She smiled at me and put her warm, soft hand on my shoulder as she placed a toy cow on the living
room coffee table. “I thought you might like to play with this,” she said. The cow was black and white and one of the legs was broken off. Many years later I
realized that the cow was a Holstein. This realization came to me while milking my own cows in Clyde, Wisconsin.
When I was 10 years old, my grandmother (on my mother’s side) gave me a white, stuffed toy poodle for Christmas. I hated the thing at first. It certainly wasn’t
on my Christmas list and it wasn’t the kind of present I was going to brag to my friends about. It was hard for me to figure out what had been going on in my
grandmother’s mind for her to get me such a gift. Then I got to love the damn thing. I don’t know how it happened, but the stuffed dog and I became good
friends. Long and short of it is that I now have a white Toy Poodle named Rupert and he is an absolute joy. A pain at times, but a joy. A dog was not on my list of
things to acquire and if I had wanted a dog I doubt that a Toy Poodle would have been my stated preference. But here he is.
I was fascinated with boats as a kid. There’s nothing mysterious about this. I grew up across the highway from the East River that separated Manhattan and
Brooklyn and I’d see all kinds of boats every day. I guess I was about eight years old when I decided to build a boat of my very own in my bedroom. I used blocks
for the sides and a broken alarm clock for a motor. Needless to say, I never got it together but I did have a small boat many years later and I spent many a day on
Lake Monona cruising around.
Funny thing is that the farming, dog and boat experiences came upon me in unexpected ways. I didn’t consciously plan for any of these things to happen.
Maybe the moral of the story is to be mindful of the things and thoughts you fill this moment with because they will be parts of your future in ways that it may be
very difficult to imagine at the moment. How did a New York City boy end up milking cows on a farm in Wisconsin? I don’t know. Maybe the miniature toy cow my
Tennessee grandmother gave me to play with 56 years ago had something to do with it.