These sunflower seeds almost never had a chance. I bought them with good intentions. But whenever the daunting waiting period of 100 days crept into my mind, the entire project became less appealing. And so, they remained stashed away in a dark, closed up junk drawer, forgotten until this summer.
The seed packet displayed an enormous yellow sunflower bloom filling the entire front of the package. The flower was arranged with huge, bright yellow petals and, by no surprise, named ‘mammoth.’ Flipping over to the instructional side, the directions emphasized how easy these were to grow.
The ‘mammoth’ variety seeds are the very typical sunflower seed one would imagine. They look exactly like the types enjoyed from the plastic packaged snack food. The kind found chewed up and spit out on a stadium bleachers. Except these are not covered in salt. It’s, I guess, the “plain” flavor, or the distinguished “unsalted” variety.
The seeds resemble petite, ivory shells, by no means microscopic but also no bigger than a small fingernail. They’re lightly striped with individualized markings the color of graphite. In fact, it’s almost like someone drew on them with an actual pencil. For seeds, however they’re actually quite large. Compared to the forget-me-not seeds, also tucked away in the same drawer, which were barely the size of a punctuation mark. It was impossible to think anything could grow from them. And this is fairly typical for seed size.
I didn’t eat one of the sunflower seeds, although it looks like anybody could. The only difference is these are in a paper seed package rather a food grade plastic bag, indicating they are unprocessed, pure even, and therefore, not to be eaten. It’s the marketing which make these sacred, or at least inedible. I dare not try one.
No two seeds look the same in the pack which contains at least forty. Some appear as blank canvases which didn’t get to be colored in time. Others are completely black, in a much darker hue than any of the rest. And the lightest ones still differentiate themselves ever so subtly.
One seed may have a single solid light charcoal line running down its shell, while another has two broken lines. Some lines are thick, others are small, sporadically spaced stripes, imitating individual barcodes. I compare it more or less to the differentiating human fingerprint. Even the solid black ones vary in size and shape. There’s one seed that almost blends in, until it totally stands out. It’s a cocoa colored brown hue and striped with rich jet black lines.
Each seed has its own personality if the time is taken to look close enough. And when I do look closely enough, they begin to resemble a closet full of black and white striped suits belonging to Beetlejuice. Or perhaps a circus’ Big Top stripy pattern, ghastly by its notable lack of any color.
While having tended to my very much a work-in-progress garden, I prepared it for the many new seeds and plants. This year, the soil had been freshly churned, nutrient infused, and now better protected from the pesky moles with revolutionary screen-under-the-topsoil technology. I planted my smorgasbord of forgotten seeds, while also relocating houseplants desperate to feel the sun shine upon their vitamin D deficient leaves.
The last and final seeds to be planted, the ‘mammoth’ sunflowers, are chosen for separate containers. Supposedly “so easy to grow,” I repeat to myself as I glance over the instructions and fill the pot with dirt. I want it to stand alone so I can watch it grow before my very eyes. The packet explicitly states: 100 DAYS TO BLOOM. For whatever reason, 100 days means nothing to me and I plant them, mindlessly confusing “easy to grow” with “quickly.” My front yard doesn’t get enough direct sunlight and so my sunflowers must be portable and repositioned to obtain their vital nutrients.
Once covered by soil, the seed is never to be seen again and its transformation begins. I water the pot containing my seed accordingly, being sure to drench every particle of the soil. I imagine when the water touches the seed, the slow magic commences.
Although it will take days to see any physical progression, beneath the surface of the soil, the sprouting has begun. The sunflower seed is now in constant metamorphose. A tiny, but very thick, pale green sprout breaks through the hard outer shell of the seed and works its way toward the sunlight. Plants know this intuitively, like a baby chick pecking its way through its eggshell. The plant is always reaching for the light above as if its sole motivation is to one day actually reach the sun.
Where I reside in high country Arizona, sunflowers grow wild. During the hot summer months, it is common to see the brightly colored landscapes scattered throughout the countryside. These wildflowers grow along the sides of the highways and dirt roads, and some of my neighbors are lucky enough to have some sprout up within their own yards. There are entire fields where sunflowers grow appearing as a yellow fleece blanket thrown over the ground. This native Arizona variety, Helianthus annuus, or the common sunflower, will bloom well into fall.
The National Sunflower Association makes a poignant effort to recognize the history of the sunflower. Originally, it was successfully cultivated by the indigenous peoples of the Southwest. Over 5000 years ago, Native Americans living on the land, now referred to as Arizona and New Mexico, used the sunflower crop by grinding up the seeds to make flours for breads. Additionally, they invented techniques for extracting the oils to use for cooking. It has been speculated through evidence that the sunflower dates back farther than the corn crop. The Natives even experimented with cross breeding various species to create the wonderful snack food we enjoy today. Natives also found a way to extract purple dye from the seeds which were utilized for body painting rituals.
Remarkably, sunflowers weren’t commercialized for their decorative blossoms until the late sixteenth century after the Europeans happened upon it in the Americas. Its use was primarily ornamental when the flower was first relocated to Spain for its exquisite blossoms. The sunflower gained even wider popularity throughout the world after the Russian Tsar, Peter the Great, first caught a glimpse of it during a trip to the Netherlands. With help from the Russian Orthodox Church in marketing the oil from the seeds, the crop became a huge success. As most oils and fats were forbidden during the Lent season, the newly found Sunflower had not been on the complete list of prohibited substances. Snacking on sunflower seeds became well favored among the Russian people. By the 1800’s, the country had dedicated two million acres to the sunflower crop. By the end of the century, Russia had marketed the seeds and were selling them back to the established American colonies, most notably, the “mammoth” variety.
In regards to my own ‘mammoth’ sunflower, I spent most of my summer checking on the progress of my teeny tiny seed which had now grown to be more than a thousand times its original size. Almost exactly one hundred days after the seed was planted, the sunflower bloomed into an oversized and beautiful flower. Once its blossom opened, it was the most gorgeous display of nature’s precise engineering.
One day, to my delight, I happened upon a bumble bee busily gnawing away at the flower’s pollen rich center. The hardworking guy was completely engulfed in yellow powder, looking almost as if he were on a mission to disguise himself as Sesame Street’s Big Bird. Bumble bees are massive in size and I was able to get supremely close to him as he was blissed out devouring the flower beneath him. This had to be a goldmine for him. I hadn’t seen any bees nearly the size of him the entire summer.
I leaned in closer to get a better glimpse of exactly what he was doing. The bee, ignoring my nearing intrusion, was hard at work collecting the flower’s nectar. He was like a lone patron of a Grand Buffet, helping himself to as much as possible, seconds, thirds, hundredths, not minding any sort of mess he made. He was completely covered in pollen, and in doing this, the bee was facilitating one the most effective way in which sunflowers pollinate.
Bumblebees are exceptionally effective pollinators. Some Botanists put the sole success of a sunflower crop on the shoulders of the bees, while simultaneously recommending people plant sunflowers in an effort to save them. Overuse of pesticides by major Agricultural industries has been surmised in the decrease in most bee populations. Along with global temperatures on the rise causing warmer winters which have forced plants to alter their growing season. When bees awake from their hibernation, there have been fewer flower blossoms available for feeding.
To understand exactly what the bee is doing, the sunflower’s anatomy should be made clear. Nectar is stored in the center of the flower’s bloom in tiny straws all crammed together, each called a floret. While drinking up every bit of nectar from the sunflower’s florets, the flower loosens its pollen all over the bee’s furry body, hopefully, with every intention of carrying it off to another flower. He will then transfer its sweet scented pollen particles to the next floret, potentially fertilizing the sunflower, developing seeds.
The bloom of my ‘mammoth’ didn’t last for long. It’s as if the bloom wakes up, has time for one solidly satisfied yawn and then closes into itself again. The strength and beauty of the flower is fleeting. But once its glamorous aesthetic has passed, it’s life work begins. Its energy is directed to reproducing itself. The blossom is closed again while the seeds inside mature. Within the next two months, my sunflower will spit out anywhere from forty to four hundred matured seeds ready to eat or replant.
Amber Serrone is a Secondary Education major with an emphasis in English. She worked as a part of the management team for this publication.
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