There I’ve said it. Does that make me weird? Well, so be it. It’s just that they hold such promise. Such potential. Opening one is always a pleasure and a reminder of what can be (and conversely, of what wasn’t to be). But I do find that the seed box itself has to be interesting and even beautiful if possible. Not just a Tupperware container (there – I’ve instantly alienated everyone who keeps their seeds in a Tupperware container. Oops).
One of my two seed boxes holds vegetable seeds; the other flower seeds.
Whenever I go into a charity shop, I keep an eye (or two) peeled for a nice, potential seed box. I already have two because I’m not terribly good at throwing seeds away.
And so my stash of seeds has grown. And grown. And grown. Take these ‘Miss Wilmott’s Ghost’ seeds for example. I’ve often done what Miss Wilmott herself was supposed to have done.* Scattering the seeds in appropriate places in the Priory gardens. Without any success incidentally though I have grown a couple of plants from pot sown seeds. Still, I can’t bring myself to throw them away and though the seeds are old now, I still sprinkle them about the place in the hope they might take. Besides, I bought them at Great Dixter and I love the packaging.
The problem then with not throwing seeds away is that my ‘boxes are filling up and the charity-shop shelves are bare. Then my Dad gave me a whisky box (sadly sans 40 year old whisky)
And what potential, what promise, what embryonic possibilities will soon be kept in it. Now, where’s my seed catalogue? I must fill it up without delay.
*Ellen Willmott was said to have secretly sown the seeds of this tall, handsome sea holly into the gardens of friends.