They sprouted up
between the bolting lettuce
and the reluctant peas,
tiny clusters of
soft bright green
curled and unfolding
in curious groupings
that could only indicate
one thing:
something from the
just-throw-it-in-the-garden
compost
had volunteered
and begun to grow.
Something brave and unafraid
reached up for the sun
and down into the earth
cheered on
by other soft green growing things,
reaching up
with the innocence
of something
that has no idea
it’s planted in
entirely the wrong spot.

The kids asked if I knew what
these curious little
green growing things were,
and if I had planted them
intentionally;
the kids know all too well
how I am about unexpected
garden residents –
they make up as much of my garden
as things intentional.
I just shrugged,
knowing we’d figure out
what they were in good time,
and either relocate them
or pull them out
if they were
one of the many invasive weeds
we’re always relocating
to the chicken feeding grounds.

Yesterday I noticed
that there were new clusters sprouting up,
and gently pulled a cluster out,
just to see just what kind of seeds
we were dealing with here.
Larger seeds with shell remnants
would indicate
kitchen scrap volunteers
and no seeds would mean
probably a weed.
I had a nursery pot on standby
to replant them into if they were keepers.
I loosened the dirt around the roots,
and looked for the seed shells –
and could not remember
what on earth we threw out there
that had seeds that looked like
this.
Narrow, with a tough shell,
more like a nut than a vegetable seed.
It wasn’t until 2am –
laying in bed
going over
all of the fruits and vegetables
that went out into the garden,
trying to put together what this could be
while waiting for sleep to show up –
that I put together
what these
(definitely determined to be)
volunteers were.
It’s the only thing we’ve had
with large, hard, almost
peanut-sized seeds,
seeds that are tightly clustered together
in the fruit,
and that have soft, green, oblong leaves.

Citrus trees.

Of everything
I did not expect
to volunteer from kitchen scraps,
these little clusters
of hopeful Orange trees
probably top the list,
even though they are
probably fruit from one of the trees
in the back half of the property
that were thrown into the garden
for more organic matter.
And there are dozens of them
growing joyfully
right under my pea plants,
right next to my bolting lettuce,
as if they were just happy
to have a spot to grow at long last.
It looks like the fae of Tabula Rasa
have decided more citrus trees
are very much needed.

I’ll begin gently transplanting them
individually
into my tiny nursery pots
(and eventually,
in bigger pots,
until they are ready to go in ground)
later this week.
They’re likely bitter oranges,
a variety that doesn’t require
grafting to another root stock,
and not so great fresh eating,
but they’ll make a beautiful,
heavenly smelling, hedge,
once we finally get the wire fence in.