The sentinels of spring in rural Eastern America are the redbud trees. They stand with heads erect and arms stretched gracefully outward along the sunny edges of woodlands and roadsides, poised like ballerinas in frilly magenta tutus.
I am totally enamored with their heart-shaped leaves and delicate pink flowers, so last year for Mother’s Day, Alan let me choose three little redbud trees and planted them in our yard within eyesight of our windows.
They are a joy to me . . . thriving and starting to put out leaves.
One even had quite a show of flowers that reminded me of sweet peas this spring, and I discovered through studying that these trees (Cercis canadensis) are related to the pea family. The flowers are edible and can be eaten fresh, fried, or boiled. The green seed pods dangle like pea pods from the branches, and Native Americans roasted and ate the seeds. Even the tender new shoots were used in some parts of Appalachia to season wild game, so one of the redbuds’ nicknames is the “spicewood tree.”
I found one mature tree that I thought at first was being strangled by dead poison ivy vines (we unfortunately have lots of poison ivy in our woods), but on closer inspection, I realized it was loaded with dried seed pods. It was a rainy day, but we gathered some pods so I could do a little Johnny Appleseed work and hopefully spread the joy!
Each pods holds about 6 seeds, so after the rain stopped, I carefully took the pods one by one and placed them lovingly along the paths through our woods.
I even scattered some of the pods along the sides of the deer runs, although it was a little alarming to notice the hundreds of maple seed pods and acorns vying for the same space!
Could one redbud pod compete with so many other seeds and actually find its place in the world?
And, how much wetness can Eastern Redbuds survive? Would the seeds drown in the muck and their roots just rot and dissolve? I began to second guess myself. I should have done more study before cheerfully throwing seeds everywhere.
After all, we didn’t name our home Tanglewood Cottage for nothing . . . the woods are full of tangled vines and trees that take up much of the sunlit spaces.
There’s a lot of clay and lowland . . . pretty raw with not too many wildflowers gracing the ground. Well, lots of wild garlic mustard, but to most people that “wildflower” is considered nothing more than a noxious, invasive weed.
Still, we do have some nice patches of may apples, and little violets and trout lilies peak out here and there . . .
I remembered the parable of the sower from church two weeks ago. When sowing seed (the message of Christ and the scripture), the sower scattered it everywhere liberally. Some seed was carried off by birds. Some fell in dry places (or for me, wet places). Some fell in cracks. Some sprang up but didn’t last.
I took photos of our young trees to help us watch for any seeds that may sprout up in coming years lest we accidentally trample any underfoot. Hmmm. How many young believers have I trampled underfoot in my life by saying or doing something insensitive?
Well, past failures shouldn’t make me fear future problems or discourage me from present efforts! I scattered them along both sides of our road.
I scattered them at the base of some other lovely bushes, like the ubiquitous honeysuckles that bloom along our lane and smell so heavenly right now, especially when it rains! Perhaps the older, more established plants will provide just the right amount of protection. Or not. I would try anyway.
(Forget-me-nots growing in our woods)
No matter what the terrain, I made sure every bit of the perimeter of our property was blessed with a few seeds, remembering my own conversion. The day after I heard the gospel and received Jesus as my Lord and Savior, I shared with a friend at school who seemed unimpressed. “Oh, I’ve been a Christian since I was four.”
“Really? Then why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I didn’t think you were the type.”
I let it drop, but I thought to myself, “The type? What type is THE type?” How does anybody know who might respond to the good news that God loves them and Christ came to save them? Forget-me-not! Okay, Lord. I will scatter seeds everywhere! I have no idea where they’ll grow. My job is to sow, but “God gives the increase” (1 Corinthians 3:6).
(Lilies-of-the-Valley love our woods and grow in vast colonies!)
I even planted them among the colonies of lily-of-the-valley, remembering in the Song of Solomon that the bride called herself a “lily of the valley.” Perhaps some redbuds would find room to grow among the lilies of the valley!
(Lilacs intertwined with wisteria in the morning sunshine)
I left no ground uncovered until I came back into our yard where the 3 little redbuds from the nursery were thriving. We would take good care of the three already under our care, but I would keep an eye out for any of the pods that did spring to life anywhere along the perimeter of our property! Maybe none will grow, but who knows? Some just might!!
“And other fell on good ground, and did yield fruit that sprang up and increased; and brought forth, some thirty, and some sixty, and some an hundred. And he said unto them, He that hath ears to hear, let him hear” (Mark 4:8-9).
Summer Setting 
