Sunflower Reminiscences

Think of those giant sunflowers pictured on the seed catalogues that arrive in my mail box each winter. They are often pictured with some guy on a ladder to show how tall they grow. I still get those catalogues ten years later even after the original seed orderer has been long gone. I think he loved sunflowers because he liked to grow things big and he had an affinity for birds. He would walk outside with peanuts and his own garden grown sunflower seeds in his pockets and the birds would come eat out of his hands.

I planted a garden a couple of springs back and towering above corn, that was tall enough for my grandchildren to hide in, were random sunflowers, garden sentinels watching from above all the weeds, rabbits, tomatoes, and other assorted vegetables I’d tried my hand at growing.

This year I have a few things planted in buckets and old pots, a little, somewhat ramshackle but nevertheless productive, container veggie garden. I've hoarded a barrel of rainwater to keep it going when nature doesn’t send a regularly spaced supply. I’d also collected soil from my backyard where I’d tossed discarded bird seed from our parrot, Wazoo, a faithful conversationalist of limited vocabulary for thirty plus years, to our chickens. The “girls” (half a dozen hens) run to me in anticipation every morning for this little extra treat that keeps them occupied while I fill their feeder. I guess that was where the most recent crop of miniature sentinels, sunflowers, that popped up with the garlic and basil came from. As I was mourning the coming demise of my snow peas with the onset of warmer summer temperatures I spotted the soon to open blooms of the sunflowers. And sunflower reminiscences made me smile.