by Monica Shaner

This is the time of year when most of us turn our attention to indoor activities. Samhain has passed. The dark of the year is literally upon us as we make our way home from work well after sunset. There is feasting and warm socks and good books to be enjoyed. For now, the natural realm belongs to the Cailleach, the Winter Queen.

Many end their gardening season at Samhain and leave the land to the Cailleach for the winter. This is a valid approach that likely suits all parties.  But not everyone stays inside by the fire (or computer screen) in the dark of the year. Those of us who work the land year-round get the privilege of the Sharp Hag’s wisdom.

In the time between Samhain and Yule, I collect seeds.

Step 1:  Wait until the flowers have completely died. All petals will have fallen. What remains of the flower will have turned brown and dried up. Wait until the stem beneath the flower is also turning brown.

The Cailleach teaches that the seeds of all the brightest flowers, all the sweetest fruit, all the loveliest leaves are hidden in the ugliest yard waste. The stuff your HOA makes rules about. Sometimes there are some late blooms where a bright petal or two remain into the dark season. They catch my summer eye. But I have learned not to take these seedheads. They won’t be well developed. They won’t produce next year. The Cailleach and I walk past them and seek out their ugly siblings. Curled over and crunchy, rattling when shaken, these are the ones that contain new life.

Step 2: You will need a small cloth or paper bag, and a pair of sharp scissors. Go out into the cold wasteland of your garden. Find the flower heads that are completely dry, and brown from the stem up. Cut the heads off into the bag. You can cut lower on the stem so that you can gather the stems together in bunches, but only cut brown stem—leave the green.

I must think like a hag. Green is the way of summer—the warm wet pushing of photosynthesis, the nitrogen sliding from microbe to microbe through the soil, the frenzy of bobcat eating bird eating frog eating insect eating leaf. The Cailleach teaches naught about what is needed to sustain high trophic levels. No matter.  I can learn that anywhere in this capitalist economy. Here in the dark, green is the enemy. It is moisture and the potential for rot. If water is life in the world of the living, it is death in the land of the dead.

Step 3: Bring your bags of seeds inside. Hang them up to get as much air as possible around them. Moisture can gather anywhere they contact a non-porous surface. That’s why we hang them, and why we keep them in paper or cloth bags—not plastic. If you are keeping them in a garage or basement, you may want to set a fan on low speed to blow on them to help them dry out.

The Cailleach and I collect as much as we can use. This is the starving time, and things that sustain life are precious. Overconsumption and underconsumption are both dangerous now. What of the birds, the chipmunks, the field mice who also need the seed? They watch me from the shadows. They call out from the trees as I work. In the cold season, it is easy to feel the balance in which everything hangs. All that I take, I am taking out of some other creature’s mouth. And yet, by taking seed, I ensure next year’s crop. Stewarding the land requires harsh arithmetic. Careful calculation is how I earn the nature spirits’ trust.

Step 4. Once your seeds are dry, you will want to separate them from the chaff. There are many ways to do this. You can put the contents of your paper bag in one bowl and then pour them into another bowl—preferably while a fan blows gently int the space between. (Do this outside.) You can place the contents of your bag on a plate or tray and sort them by hand. This is a nice way to pass the time while binge watching Lord of the Rings. It can function as a fidget craft for non-knitters. Place your separated seeds in envelopes or small paper bags. Store them in a cool dry place—a shoe box in the refrigerator works well. Discard the chaff outside in the garden.

Like the Cailleach, I return to my fire (or computer screen,) having gathered up the life-fuel from the land. I do not rest like the summer spirits.  I stay vigilant. I guard my hoard. In the cold, dark box in my kitchen, I protect the promise of spring.