by Sandra Smith
I sped home and ran to my room, closing and locking the door behind me. I was out of breath, but not from the physical exertion. In one of my last conversations with Clare she had shared her fears that something had happened to Ana. Ana had missed church—the only place the two of them felt safe meeting—and it worried Clare. I told her to calm down, that she was overreacting.
And now Clare and Dante were gone, too.
Think, I told myself. What would Clare and Dante do? I figured they’d pray, for one, but I didn’t know much about that. In the apartment Ma and I share, there’s a little altar. Most days Ma sets Carbo squares and flowers on it. One time when I woke up early, I saw her standing in front of it with little strips of paper in her hands. I watched quietly but never asked about it. I think that might have been prayer. I didn’t know if Clare and Dante’s God was among the collection of gods my mom prayed to or not. Clare’s way of praying resembled talking to God as if he were a person in the room listening, as if he would get back to you. I figured a Bible might help, but we didn’t own one.
I decided to keep a low profile. Maybe Clare and Dante were hiding somewhere for a reason I had yet to discover. What didn’t make sense was that it had looked like nobody was home at their apartment. Where was Clare’s mom?
Either way, I didn’t like the way people were disappearing. I stayed home the next day. Ma appreciated the extra help folding the tiny paper cranes she sold for income in gift stores and craft bazaars.
On Friday I rode to Clare’s place again. The yellow tape was gone, and a light was on inside. I rode up and propped my bicycle against the building. I couldn’t help gazing toward the place our carrots had fiercely grown like the outlaws they were. Gone! The ground torn up with no trace of the carrots we’d lovingly and patiently tended. I sidled up the stairs and knocked.
The door opened. Clare’s mom, more harried and haggard-looking than ever, stood waiting. Dark circles hung under her eyes like rain clouds in the late autumn sky. I could tell she hadn’t slept and had probably been crying.
“Lily!”
She lunged to hug me. I don’t know what came over me. I was relieved to find her, of course, but beyond my will and to my embarrassment, tears welled up and spilled down my face. We held each other crying in the doorway for several minutes. Then Celia let go and ushered me in, telling me to sit.
That was when I learned about her arrest for the tomato plant.
“I spoke to Clare on the phone from jail,” Celia said. “But they held me two more days. When I called the second day, no one answered. Those damned cops wouldn’t let me call again. They told me not to worry. I knew somethin’ was wrong.”
I listened quietly.
“Lily, where are my kids?”
I was torn on how to respond. I knew more than Celia did, but Clare always felt the less her mother knew, the better off she would be.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “The police think they left on their own.” The words “ran away” seemed too harsh to say aloud.
“Yes,” Celia admitted. “Both backpacks, bikes, a flashlight, food—all gone. It don’t look like no kidnappin’.”
We sat, silent. At last I said, “They’re together. Clare will take care of Dante.”
She clasped my hand and smiled a little, her cheeks glistening with tears.
“Thanks for that,” she whispered. “But why? Why did they go?” Her dark and hollowed eyes bored into me.
I shrugged my shoulders. I had a pretty good idea it had something to do with GRIM and the seized plant, but my head was still spinning with my own selfish question: Why didn’t they take me?
DON’T MISS THE OTHER BOOKS IN
THE EXCITING SEED SAVERS SERIES!
HEIRLOOM
(Seed Savers 3)
KEEPER
(Seed Savers 4)
UNBROKEN
(Seed Savers 5)
Releasing soon from Flying Books House
FLYINGBOOKSHOUSE.COM
SPECIAL NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
I have been poking seeds into the ground ever since I can remember. I grew up on a farm—berries mostly—and my mom planted a huge garden each year. My job as a child was to place seeds in the furrows Mom dug. I still eat mostly according to the seasons, including harvesting and preserving about 100 pounds of peaches each summer.
The historical references in Seed Savers: Treasure are factual, although I’ve changed the names of the corporations. The titles of the cookbooks the children read are titles of actual cookbooks. The library that sits on the border between Canada and the U.S. is also real.
I have met farmers who were visited by “the seed police” —men watching them on their farms and bringing lawsuits meant to shut them down after the farmer’s crops were contaminated by the GM seeds of their neighbors.
I’ve also seen children pull up garden veggies randomly in search of carrots because they didn’t know what carrot tops looked like.
And, of course, there is an organization called Seed Savers Exchange with whom I am not affiliated in any way.
There are many wonderful gardeners and seed savers in the world today. Maybe you are one of them. If you’re not, you can be!
RESOURCES TO CONTINUE THE CONVERSATION
GM Food Awareness
http://www.kidsrighttoknow.com/
Saving Seeds
https://www.seedsavers.org/
Gardening Programs for Kids: American Horticultural Society & Junior Master Gardeners
http://ahsgardening.org/gardening-programs/youth-gardening/ncygs
http://jmgkids.us/
More Food and Food Politics
http://michaelpollan.com/
https://www.foodpolitics.com/about/
http://vandanashiva.com/
The Library on the Border
http://www.amusingplanet.com/2018/03/the-library-that-stands-on-two-countries.html
Sources in Researching Treasure
https://scholarlycommons.law.northwestern.edu/njtip/vol3/iss2/4/
http://psep.cce.cornell.edu/facts-slides-self/facts/mod-ag-grw85.aspx
https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2008/05/monsanto200805
https://www.tomifobia.com/border_lines/watchers.html
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to
Sally for her enthusiasm, encouragement, and gardening knowledge as I wrote the very first edition of Seed Savers: Treasure.
My daughter, Ana for being so excited about the book before a word was written that she was telling others the story.
My son, Forrest for reading one of the many drafts and telling me it was “good enough” to be published.
My husband, Cy for putting up with someone with dreams and letting me hog the computer.
My sister, Tracy who way back with the earliest editions read and reread to help make Seed Savers: Treasure a better book.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sandra Smith grew up on a farm with a tremendously large garden. She maintains that if you can’t taste the soil on a carrot, it’s not fresh enough.
Today, Sandra lives in the city with her husband, cats, and backyard hens. She grows a small urban garden every summer. When she’s not gardening or turning tomatoes into spaghetti sauce, Sandra often writes poetry or novels inspired by her garden. She is the author of the popular series, Seed Savers.
Sandra enjoys visiting schools and gardening events to talk about Seed Savers and food in general. Find out more by visiting SeedSaversSeries.com or look for her on Twitter at @AuthorSSmith.
SeedSaversSeries.com
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