When I was young, my uncle brought me seeds he had sequestered away in a special place saying, "Now these are yours, so as you plant, speak some kind of prayer, sing to them, that their stock will grow to be replenished." As I went out to the garden to kneel there next to the opened earth, I felt awkward talking, my mouth dry next to the wetted soil where I was to put the seeds in place. I whispered,
"May you find enough moisture to express yourself, may your growth be long enough to ripen," and soon my whisper turned into my uncle's song.
It was not until years had gone by, as I
prepared my son and daughter for the passing down of family stock that I finally came to understand how the old seeds had spoken back to me how the place most nurturing for anyone is where generations upon generations find a way to string the seeds together with their singing.
PAUL NAEHAN