Little Earthling on a Blustery Day

By Janet Gingold

   On most Thursday afternoons, a little boy takes his Grandma to an urban park. He runs first to the playground swings and then runs off to the ladders and slides to hone his mountaineering skills and observe how gravity works. Often, they discover together how wild things grow and change through the seasons – squirrels in the trees, worms on the sidewalk, ducks in the puddles.

 Earth Day 2021 was blustery and cold, so he had the playground to himself. The physics lesson of the day shifted from pendulums to centripetal force as he instructed Grandma to twist the swing. Again, again, again.  As the whirling swing slowed the umpteenth time, he pointed at the maple samaras littering the rubber playground surface below him.

   “What’s that?”

   “Those are seeds from the maple tree. Look how they spin in the wind. The wings help the seeds fly farther from the tree.”

   They took turns throwing them in the air, watching them helicopter off in the stiff breeze. Again, again, again.

   “Let’s look at the seeds. Oh, this one’s empty. But feel it. It’s sticky.”

   They had to open up lots of samaras before they found one with a seed in it, like a pea in a pod, covered with thin white coat.

   “See, it has little leaves all curled up waiting to grow.”

   They found the tree that had produced the seeds and so many seeds on the ground below it. Again, again, again, they looked for seeds in the samaras but most had already been opened and emptied.

   “Someone must be eating them.”

   Birds? Squirrels? They had previously talked about how the squirrels ate the acorns from the oaks and most of the acorns from last fall were long gone. But what else do squirrels eat when then acorns are all gone? Maple seeds? Who knew! If so many get eaten, no wonder those trees put out so many seeds!  

   “Open this one…Again…Again…Again...”

   “Time to go home.”

   “No. Not go home yet.”

   “We can look for more maple seeds on the way home.”

   So, they headed homeward, searching for samaras. But the stately trees lining the walk were mostly oaks, strewing catkins, not samaras. Finally, a maple twig with a cluster of samaras, fat with seeds.

   “Open it.”

   “Oh, that’s a nice one. Look, all ready to grow. Should we plant it?”

   “Yes!”

   So, they used a little stick to dig a little hole. They put the seed inside and covered it gently.

Again, again, again, they searched, and when they discovered seeds, they found bare patches of clay amidst the grass and clover and put them in little holes to give them a chance to grow.

   Maybe those maples-to-be have little chance against the mowers that arrive on regular schedules to “maintain” that grassy area between the asphalt walkway and the concrete steps. But dare we hope that the other seeds planted that day will have a chance to grow?

   In this uncertain world, we have to nurture the things that we want to see grow. We have to keep throwing those seeds into to wind and watch them spin away, hoping they will stick in a place where they can grow. Again. Again. Again.