"Very. But that's not the point." I line up the jars in front of them. "These are heirloom seeds. That means they're open-pollinated. If you plant one, save its seeds, and plant those, you'll get the same plant. The same flavor. The same story."
One of the Johnson girls frowns. "Why wouldn't it be the same?"
"Because most seeds you buy at the store are hybrids. They're bred for shipping, not flavor. And they don't come back true from seed. You have to buy new ones every year."
Lila tilts her head. "That sounds like a scam."
I can't help the small smile. "A little bit, yeah."
I walk them through the process. Soil first, loose and damp but not soaking. Press it gently into the pots. Make a shallow divot with your finger.
"Two seeds per pot. Not one, because sometimes seeds don't germinate. Not three, because then you're wasting."
Tommy drops four into his pot before I can stop him.
"Tommy."
"Oops."
I hand him a fresh pot. "Try again."
He does, slower this time, tongue poking out in concentration.
We work in near silence, the only sounds the patter of soil and the occasional whispered question. I move between stations, adjusting depth, demonstrating how to water without flooding.
Lila finishes first and looks up. "Miss Ivy? What happens if we forget to water them?"
"They die."
Her eyes go wide.
"But," I continue, "if you keep them moist and warm, in about a week you'll see the first leaves. Two weeks, they'll be strong enough to transplant. By summer, you'll have tomatoes."
"And then we save the seeds?"
"Exactly."
She grins, gap-toothed and proud.
I hand out wooden stakes and markers. "Label everything. Variety, date, your initials. If you don't label it, you'll forget what it is."
They hunch over their pots, writing in careful block letters.
This is my favorite part. The quiet focus, the way their small hands cradle something that will grow into food. The promise of it.
When the last pot is labeled and watered, I gather them around the propagation bench where seedlings from last month are already thriving.
"These are the beans we started in February. See how strong they are?"
The kids crowd close, fingers hovering just above the delicate leaves.
"Can we eat them?" Tommy asks.
"Not yet. But in a few months, yes. And then you'll save seeds from the best plants and start the whole thing over."
Lila touches one leaf, barely a brush. "It's like a loop."
"Exactly like a loop."
