
All living things reproduce. We crank out screaming infants, eagles lay eggs, yeast cells send out alpha and beta signals to each other so they can fuse and divide into little baby yeasts.
Plants, which can't move, do interesting things to get their seeds out. Some make little burrs that get stuck on/carried by wild animals. Others bury their seeds inside of tempting fruits. Still others give off little bits of fluff that fly through the air.
That's what milkweed does. It makes a giant seed pod that looks like something out of a fairy tale. When the pod bursts, it releases seed-carrying fibers so silky that they were used to stuff lifevests and flying suits in World War II.
I dragged a friend up the hill to Hopkins one time to help me measure a plot of land. It was a weekend, and the grounds were quiet and peaceful. I prattled about building greenhouses and planting things, but he wasn't listening. "See that? That's milkweed. Monarch
butterflies like milkweed."

We looked for butterflies but there were none.
"Look at this." He handed me a dark green leaf. "Tear it at the vein."
I did, and thick, milky sap spurted onto my fingers. I laughed and asked about the huge pods.
I did, and thick, milky sap spurted onto my fingers. I laughed and asked about the huge pods.
"They're a little early, but here--"
He grabbed one and pried open the thick shell with almost tender concentration. It strained and stretched, and t
hen with a loud POP it spewed forth its silk and seeds.
I got really excited. We blew on the pod. Its fluff bobbed and swirled in the September breeze.
When the pod was finally empty, we decided we were done for the day. I tried to wipe the sticky sap off my fingers, but it was a long time before they were dry again.
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