A Story of Forgotten Signs and Rediscovery
“The flower I thought I chose had once chosen me.”
In February 2023, I stood quietly at the edge of a bushy, untended corner of my farm. Back then, the land was still taking shape and had the look of the wild. The terrain was raw, framed by tall trees, thick undergrowth, and scattered flowers that seemed to bloom wherever they pleased. I remember pausing to photograph a particular flower — tall, golden, radiant beneath the open sky.
I didn’t know its name. I just knew I liked it.
A Subtle Pull Across the Years
Now, nearly two and a half years later, I’ve grown into a different rhythm with the land. My hands are more weathered, my senses more tuned. Farming is no longer just about planting and harvesting. It’s about listening to what the soil needs, to what the plants whisper, and to what nature quietly offers in return.
The flower I captured back in February 2023 is no longer there. That part of the landscape has changed. Even the old, towering trees that once stood like sentinels have been cleared. At the time, there was only one of that flower, but it stood tall and wide, almost like a living fence, marking the quiet edge of something I didn’t yet understand.
I don’t raise livestock, so I don’t use animal manure, at least not currently. That’s why I’ve always looked for plant-based alternatives to enrich the soil and sustain my composting system.
That’s when I discovered the Mexican sunflower (Tithonia diversifolia), a plant known for its powerful biomass, fast growth, and incredibly high nitrogen content. It doesn’t just grow fast. It regenerates, it heals soil, and it attracts pollinators like bees and butterflies. It felt like a perfect answer to a question I didn’t even know I was asking.
So I ordered about ten baby trees, not just for beauty and not just for compost. I planted them as a living foundation for my Berkeley hot composting project, yes, but also as a way to restore balance here… to make space for nature to breathe more freely, to let animals and insects thrive in harmony again.
But life, especially when rooted in nature, has a way of blending practicality with deeper meaning.
The Loop Revealed
A few days after planting them on my slope, I was flipping through old photos… and there it was.
The same flower I had captured in 2023 — golden, tall, unmistakable.
It was the Mexican sunflower.
Somehow, without knowing its name, I had once admired it. And now, here I was, growing it with intention. The circle had quietly closed.
At first, I thought it was just a wildflower I happened to stumble upon that day. The area had no clear boundary at the time. The farm fences were still being built, and the land was only beginning to take shape. It felt untamed, and the flower looked like it had appeared on its own.
But when I asked my mother recently, she told me the truth.
She had planted it.
In the early days of developing the farm, she had collected various flowers, including the Mexican sunflower, from a neighbor and planted them simply to decorate the young land. She never told me. And I never thought to ask.
What I thought was wild had, in fact, been a quiet act of care.
Nature is Always Speaking
There’s something humbling about that.
To realize that what I thought had chosen me… had already been placed in my path long ago.
Some call this coincidence. I see it as synchronicity — life’s gentle way of nudging us, even when we don’t yet recognize the signs.
That flower wasn’t random. It wasn’t wild.
It was a message growing in silence, waiting for me to be ready.
Self-Discovery Through Soil and Signs
Looking back now, I see how much I’ve changed. That photo meant nothing back then. It was just a pretty flower in a wild space.
But now?
I’ve learned to listen to what was once overlooked.
It’s a bridge between the past and present, between what was planted and what is now understood.
“What blooms without being noticed may one day become our deepest teacher.”
The Wild Becomes Companion
This plant once stood quietly at the edge of my life, unnoticed.
Now, I care for it with intention. With water. With purpose.
It reminds me that:
- Not all wisdom comes in words. Some comes in seeds.
- Not all lessons arrive with explanations. Some just grow beside us.
- And not all signs are loud. Some are silent, waiting to be remembered.
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