Publisher’s Post: I may be slightly obsessed with seeds.

I grew up on an acre of countryside, with a quarter-acre garden that felt both enormous and tiny. It was huge when my mom required us to pull weeds and do other garden chores, but so small when it was time to harvest our favorite fruits or veggies. In that garden, there were sections designated for us kids to grow whatever we wanted. My favorite food at the time was strawberries, so I had a whole patch that I tended. (Looking back now, it may have actually been a family patch, but I was obsessed with it so it felt like mine.)

My family’s move out west came with new jobs for my parents, which meant less time—and perhaps less inclination—to have a big garden. By then, we kids weren’t really home much to help anyway, so gardening wasn’t part of my teen years.

In college, I heard from a friend that you could grow an avocado tree from a store-bought avocado, so I decided to try it. I toothpicked my seed and balanced that at the top of a small cup. I was elated when roots began to grow and gleeful when a leaf began to form. Back then, we didn’t have the internet at our fingertips, so I just did what I felt was the next right thing: I planted it in a pot and set it outside to get some sun. And it grew! And kept growing! One day, after about a year of steady growth, we had a wind event. My beautiful avocado tree blew off the second-floor balcony and smashed to pieces in the parking lot below.

Since then I have tried to grow avocado trees from seeds many times, but never had the effortless success of that one. Perhaps that was the true beginning of my obsession with seeds.

Now I have my own garden, and I have packages and bags and folders and organizers and envelopes full of heirloom, organic, wild, gifted, purchased and saved seeds. It feels incredible to be able to coax forth life from something inert; to be able to make a small package of seeds into life-giving nutrient-dense produce; to grow food.

And this feeling, I think, is what has blossomed into the multitude of analogies and metaphors: planting seeds of wisdom as a parent or teacher; planting the seeds in your life that you want to see grow (patience, charity, empathy, peace, love); treating your business like a garden that needs tending; harvesting the fruit of your actions … I could go on. So, this issue is about seeds, both literal (see recipes on page 20 and our story on page 14) and figurative—see our travel story on page 30 and the artisans on pages 8–13, 44 and 46 who are planting seeds into their community and hoping they grow into strong, connected trees. Seeds are the foundation of growth and life, but they are just the beginning. What a delight to be able to be part of the process.

Until next season, dear reader,

Tami