A few days ago I made an early morning wander through our yard and marveled at the tiny buds of lettuce and green beans bravely pushing above the brown earth. Amazing isn’t it, that plants and flowers emerge to full-blown beauty from seemingly insignificant, nearly invisible and unlikely beginnings.

Lettuce seeds are very small and completely camouflaged when they are dropped into waiting rows in the dirt. How can that wee bit of organic “crispy” yield such a huge, harvest of summer salad? And the carrot seeds- equally tiny, equally unpromising give us what Beloved Spouse, THE family gardener, calls a “tonnage crop.” We eat so many pounds of carrots all winter it is astonishing when compared to the few grams weight of seed that was planted.

And then consider the flower beds’ denizens. Iris, columbines, daisies, tulips, and hostas all withered and disappeared over the winter. The thumbs of flower beds poking into the matted brown remnants of lawn are punctuated only by gawky dead twigs of rose bushes. Shapeless mounds of rumpled brown and gray earth–tattered remains of last summer’s glory–seem unlikely to have any life, let alone beauty within. Then comes spring. Warmer days, sunshine and gentle rains bring the tiny signs of life from the barren clods. Tulip, iris and hosta nubbins poke up. Little green knobs declare that columbines and daisies are wakening to a new and glorious season. THE gardener, decked in warm jacket against the bite of early spring wind, has shoveled, hoed, raked and planted the rectangle of organic detritus into rows. Wee bits of life promised in seed-packet pictures have been deposited and now are marching in hopeful green rows. They are soldiering their way to vegetable profusion.

So it is with our lives. Often great accomplishments start in small, nearly invisible ways. Consider the small box Beloved Spouse has. It is a rough cardboard shipping container—with “garden stuff” written on one end with magic marker. It contains a big collection of seed packets: opened and unopened. Packets are dated from this year and several previous years’ plantings. The opened ones have made their way to the garden rows and the unopened ones linger in the box with “I’m not sure why I bought this variety” or “This is a great kind of cucumber- I don’t want to forget which kind I used.” Each packet contains hundreds of un-used possibilities. Similarly, our lives have many seeds of creative projects that we overlook, discard or deem unworthy of our time and effort.

I’m pondering several things as possible “new crops.” Calligraphy projects to letter, books to write, and quilts to make. The ideas are tiny and seem pretty un-promising just now. If I plant them into the days I have been given, water and tend the little seeds of inspiration, who knows what kind of yield I may see.

QUESTION: What project or plan is lying in your subconscious waiting to be planted?