SEEDS ARE MAIN PURPOSE OF GROWING PLANTS

We think the chief purpose of flowers are to delight us with their beauty of form, color, texture and perfume; all our efforts to produce them are for that purpose. Also, we think the tomato, bean, okra, corn, etc., come to fruition for our Epicurean delight. We cultivate, fertilize, weed and sometimes stake to aid them to grow for our eating pleasure.

But that is not the chief purpose as far as the plant is concerned. All the rooting, sprouting, leafing, blossoming is bent on one result. Seeds! Continuation of life! If it helps humans to continue life, that is a side issue with them.

As the iris blossom comes to full-blown beauty, right there beneath the blossom is the seed pod forming, looking somewhat like a midget green Bell pepper. As the rose petals wither and fall, there is the little round hip already in place.

I suppose that somewhere in the aisles of the Library of Congress there are books of drawings of how every seed-bearing plant packages its seeds for the purpose of continuity. I've made drawings of some of them myself. They are all so very clever.

I think the seed pods of the poppy is my favorite. There is the little round pot with an attached scalloped lid on it and as it further matures, tiny round windows below the lid open to let the seeds escape when the wind blows. Then there are the seeds that look like fairy hat pins stuck into a pin cushion such as the marigolds, rudbeckia, cone flowers, etc. The locust tree seeds are packaged in a flat, brown, banana-shaped pod. The little blue cedar seeds appear to be confetti beads sprinkled on the green branches. The milkweed, sporting a silken "hairdo," floats effortlessly away from the mother pod and is carried on a breeze. The variety of seeds and their packaging is awesome to behold.

The garden seeds know when to call off man's appetite and let them finish their life cycle. Lettuce bolts almost overnight. The leaves are no longer tasty. The wrapping of the green bean grows too tough so the seeds are left alone to ripen. Corn gets too ripe and hard to eat from the cob.

Right now, as I groom my petunias, cutting off the spent blossoms, I find some I have missed. Already the seed pod has ripened, burst open, and is dripping seeds into the potting soil. All life's seasonal effort has been accomplished. Duty has been done. Rest.

Along the life cycle of the seed, the by-products of beauty for man's soul and food for his body are gifts so that he, too, can continue to produce seeds. All is so intermingled and woven together it boggles the mind to wonder, to contemplate such a Grand Plan.

We used to save seed from one season until the next. The best ears of corn were set aside. The seeds from the biggest pumpkin were saved. Like a bank vault, little kitchen match boxes containing seeds were arrayed on the top pantry shelf. They didn't need to be labeled. We knew the fuzzy fluff of the lettuce seed, the little round radish seeds, the flat, yellow seeds of the tomato.

It is comforting to know that spotted around the United States there are huge vaults of saved seed in case some national disaster should strike that would kill the seeds.

There ought to be a national monument to the persistence of the seeds -- persistence dating from the third day of creation.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.