I’ve previously disclosed how I feel about my ability to write “how-to” posts. Thus, the “reluctant” addition to this, yes, “how-to” post.
I’ve decided I’m willing to eat crow in the name of wildflowers.
As my most amazing neighbor and sister have shared, as they court my garden plans and promote seeding more vibrant colors into the green this year, flowers are just as nourishing for the spirit as vegetables are for the body.
I’m beginning to remember that feeling of spring nourishment once again as the sun rises earlier, crocuses blossom in the southwest corner of our quarter-acre and a bouquet of hyacinth sit next to our kitchen sink where I breathe deeply as my hands spend hours wading in dirty dishwater.
Call it the bug bite of spring but I just felt the need to start sowing flower seeds and spreading the possibility of a bountiful, colorful season to come.
Long ago Jake introduced me to the concept of gorilla gardening and a few times we spontaneously picked up a few envelopes of wildflower seeds to scatter along the sidewalk median as we walked home from the corner store.
I’m unsure if those seeds ever took root but I choose to imagine a young child picking them to take to his mum. Or a spent and stretched woman noticing them, stopping to enjoy their scent and walking past, leaving others the joy of gorilla beauty. Or a lonely man noticing that these flowers were uncharacteristic to his routine landscape, pick them and take them home to vase on the small little table he daily drink his coffee on.
With my increased sensitivity to the possibility of planting more flowers this year interwoven with a remembrance of what it felt like to leave behind a little beauty as we walked our city streets I found myself desiring to pass along this sensation of spring anticipation to Little Tomato.
So we made Seed Bombs.
I pilfered the tutorial from Playful Learning. I had come across, what she refers to as “seed pod” guide, sometime last year and although I can’t currently locate it on her site, I wanted to pass along this brilliant idea of how to add a little splash of color into your everyday.
Use scissors and/or a knife to cut apart the individual little compartments of a cardboard egg carton.
Trim the top edge of each egg cup to make a nice even, round top. Spend time making many caterpillars or building castles with them.
Fill each egg cup with potting soil, or really any kind of dirt. Word around town is that wildflowers will grow in anything.
Top off each pod with a pinch or two, or three, of wildflower seeds.
Playful Learning then suggests making a basic flower paste by combining 1/4 cup flour with 1/3 cup water and whisking until smooth. Dig into your recyclables and pull out Sunday paper. Cut pieces of paper big enough to cover the top of your seed bomb and fold down the sides to make a nice seal.
Apply a layer of paste to the edges of you newspaper squares and place on top of your seed bomb. Smooth down the newspaper edges so that the seed bomb is fully sealed and the paper is securely pasted down. Set aside to allow to dry.
Viola! Now your seed bomb is ready to throw and grow!
Jake is a wee bit uncomfortable with how “trashy” these look. He believe people would notice the bombs in their yards or along the sidewalk, simply mistake them for litter, pick them up and dispose of them. I kind of agree but am unwilling to fold and agree with him full-heartedly. They are just too darn cute to give up on.
When I was gone later that day, though, he did decide to experiment on his own. He made his own little seed bombs with a little bit of the very same flour paste, a twinge of dirt and some wildflower seeds. Pretty much, he just mixed it all together until it presented the right consistency for rolling balls and there you have it. Two variations of wildflower seed bombs.
I also hate being on-upped by my husband. Which is why even if I did believe his seed bombs were better (which I don’t) I would never admit it publicly. I am willing to point out that his seed bombs would melt into the landscape better and most likely never be picked up in the name of litter.