Seeds for Tomorrow
- Debra Flaming
- 4 days ago
- 2 min read
Monday, November 17th — Today was one of those quiet, steady days on the farm—the kind that doesn’t look spectacular on the outside but carries so much hope beneath the surface. I spent the afternoon harvesting flower seeds from what remains of this year’s garden: zinnias, cosmos, yarrow, bachelor buttons, and amaranth. Their petals may be long gone, but their promise lives on in every tiny seed.
Once collected, I spread the blooms across trays and set them in the greenhouse to dry. The late-fall sun warms the space enough to pull out the moisture without rushing the process. In a few weeks, I’ll bring the trays inside—one at a time—and begin the slow, meditative work of separating each seed from its flower head. It’s humble work, hands-on and therapeutic, the kind of task that reminds me how much beauty begins in simple, hidden places.
When the seeds are cleaned, I tuck them into glass jars—some big, some small—each labeled and stored in a cool, dark corner of the house where they’ll rest for winter. It always feels a little bit like putting hope on a shelf. And come spring, I’ll carry those jars back out to the garden and carve out little trenches to sow next year’s dreams.
Through the years I’ve learned which seeds like what treatment. Zinnias, for example, hate the cold and prefer to be planted late in spring, once the world has decided it is truly warm. Cosmos, bachelor buttons, amaranth, and yarrow appreciate an early start in the greenhouse and transplant beautifully once they find their footing outdoors. Trial and error has shaped this rhythm—little lessons, learned one season at a time.
My favorite seeds to collect will forever be the zinnias. Their cross-pollination is like God’s paintbrush at play. Every summer they surprise me with new swirls and speckles of color—tangerine, raspberry, gold, cinnamon, coral, and colors I don’t even have names for. It’s a reminder that God loves to create beyond our expectations, often from the smallest beginnings.
And maybe that’s the quiet truth today whispered as I worked:Even when a season ends, the seeds are already forming for the next one. Nothing planted in faith is wasted. Nothing entrusted to God’s timing is ever lost.
As I washed my hands and put the last tray away, I felt that familiar tug of gratitude—gratitude for the work, for the lessons, and for the promise tucked into every tiny seed. This quiet, steady rhythm of saving and storing reminds me that God is always preparing the next season long before we see it unfold. Winter may be settling in, but hope is already resting in jars on my shelf, waiting for the warmth of spring. And just like the garden, our lives are carried forward by these small, intentional acts of faith—trusting that what we tend today will bloom in God’s perfect timing tomorrow.
Grateful for every seed, season, and story we share,
Debra Flaming
