seedlings

After work tonight, I had about twenty minutes to dig up bluebonnet and larkspur seedlings and replant them spaced out in more opportune places for them to grow.

The larkspur had clumped together in the fine mist of compost, and it was easy to disentangle them from each other. The bluebonnets were in harder soil, but I think that they were small enough, the air cool enough that they will settle down in the new location without damage.

I paused in delight, holding the seedlings smaller than the length of my fingers, seeing the white tangle of root. The slightest jerk can tear a seedling apart, or rip out its roots. I try to keep soil connected to it as I create a new space with the trowel and fill in around the seedling with more soil.

And then it was time to come in for supper, and like a child, I wanted to stay outside in the fading light, to reposition the seedlings, to dig out yard violets left undisturbed for fear of burying larkspur seed, to stay in that place where time has paused. It was as if I had just kneeled down and started.

After dinner, in the light of the driveway, I sprinkled water around the seedlings, trying not to smack them with a heavy stream.

Larkspur requires patience in getting the seed and putting it out at the right time. Like the man who wore a belt and suspenders, I put seed out in fall and then I put it out again in late winter. I cannot tell which is better, but that's ok. The point is to get it started. Once it blooms, it will become a seed factory, re-seeding the perennial beds.

Tall, fine and fern leafed, larkspur is a simple and beautiful spike of bracketed flowers, purple, pink and white.