JOY ALONG THE WAY: SUNFLOWERS, MOSS AND ODDARARIUM

Now, about my terrarium. I'm trying to think of new non-dictionary words to call it. Maybe "funnyrarium?" Or "Sproutararium?" The little ceramic rabbit that sits in the middle of it seems to raise a questioning ear a little higher each day. A sunshine and shadow thing, no doubt.

The frozen layer of something I dug up and thought could be moss really turned out to be moss. I started an intensive study of all my nature books to determine what kind of moss it was. What's an experimentarium for but to learn new things? With the aid of my handy magnifying glass, I determined it to be star moss. Two hours, two cups of coffee and one bagel later I felt I could answer a visual question on Jeopardy, "What kind of moss is pictured here?"

Is this some branch of home schooling or continuing education? Shall I apply for state or federal funds? To know what kind of moss grows in an outside corner of my house has raised my self-esteem, enabled me to converse more intelligently, interact with and get along better with people.

As I related earlier I poked holes in the moss of the sillyrarium to drop certain seeds in the shallow top soil and sand below to see which would sprout first. My bet was on the bean. Wrong. The two sunflower seeds came first. Here were these little U-shaped pale-greenish things humping up like the top of an old-fashioned hairpin. If you have the time to watch, you can see one side of the upside down U curve outgrowing the other. The next day, lo, the U has straightened and is above ground sporting two green hats, er, leaves on it.

Seeds! The little awesome things that show metamorphosis right before your eyes. I love 'en.

Sunflowers in a small, misnamed terrarium! I'd better not approach the government for any kind of subsidy. They grew, spindly, up, up, like two beautiful flat green balloons on a heave twine string. Have tried to keep them growing straight by turning the fishbowl ever so often toward the sun because, even in infancy, sunflowers are going to turn toward the sun. I wonder if any activity such as that goes on in the dry seed if placed in the sun before the catalyst of sunshine, soil and water are added? Or after. A bird had consumed a tablespoon or two of such seeds, does the bird tend to sit facing the sun? Mercy! I must not apply for a voucher for home schooling; I might get one for another public institution. Where's Proxmire anyway? And his Golden Fleece Award?

The sunflower seedlings are above the top of the oddararium now, so I have inserted a slender stick beside the rabbit and am attempting to bring the two seedlings together, entwined like the red, red rose and the greenbrier of Barbara Allen fame.

Beneath the canopy of sunflowers-to-be are two, straight-as-a-toothpick green corn shoots coming up. Brave little fellows. One has already unfurled a green blade a quarter-inch wide. Not having placed markers, I don't know whether they are the popcorn seeds or the red field corn, which I later planted when the bean didn't show. Sunflowers and Corn Tassels. Humm, Natchez and the Robert E. Lee?

The larkspur just sits there evidently mad about my bringing it in where it would later, if left outside, enjoy the visits of the bumblebees and dance in the wind.

The violet root, even angrier, I suppose, just decided not to cooperate. But I haven't discarded it.

The hollyhock seed? It hasn't metamorphosed either. Sometimes I wonder what stage of metamorphosis I'm in. Dare I open my locked gate to cyberspace, confront Internet, Web, Windows, etc., etc. and find out?

REJOICE!

~Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime columnist for the Southeast Missourian.