I’m not sure when they arrived, but on the entire six acres these few golden shoots of some kind of grain–barley, wheat, oats–have made their presence known. Regardless of endless extraction of stones from soil, and planting of perennials, and construction of stone walls, porches, pergolas and potted pansies, these few strands of grain found themselves catching the sun every evening, shimmering above and beyond it all.
Last year two trenches were dug, one for electrical and one for the well. We’ve come to believe that the soil turned up from the five foot deep cuts churned dormant prehistoric seeds which have now woken, planted themselves and are covering the five hundred foot length of previously scarred land. Some of the flora looks like it came out of my childhood Dr. Seuss books: curly-cue blue petalled long stalks of fantasy plants, that open at dawn and close in the full sun.
I also planted seeds to grow and keep the deer and wild turkeys fed with wild kale, turnips and clover. But for all the growth, these golden strands are one of a kind.
Andrew Binks 