Silas grunted. “Mustard is for hot dogs. Or a curse from the Bible.”
He still has the packet. Tucked behind the cracked mirror in his truck. The seeds are long gone. But on cold mornings, when the ground is hard and the work seems endless, he touches the paper and remembers: even the smallest, angriest seeds can turn a field back into a garden. mustard cover crop seed
“It’s a biofumigant,” Lena insisted, tapping the packet. “You plant it. Let it grow until it flowers. Then you mow it, till it under—while it’s still green. The glucosinolates release. It’s like tear gas for the nematodes. For the fungi. It cleans the soil.” Silas grunted