Recently, I was cooking something else and needed garlic. I went looking for the clove leftovers in the fridge, but I noticed that the brave little garlic pieces had begun to sprout!

Awwww, I thought. Seeing that they were alive (and irrationally thinking that it was ok to eat them before they sprouted, but not now!) I rescued them out of the refrigerator.

I carelessly placed them on my kitchen counter, where they sprouted much more vigorously over the next few days. I was starting to become quite fond of these little living things. Soon, they were in a little bowl with dirt, and they showed their gratefulness by shooting some tall green stalks. I could almost feel them exulting, "Yaaay, we get to live!".

I was in charge of picking out a spot for a picnic some friends and I were having, so up I went in my bicycle and pedaled a couple of miles up to Golden Gate Park to scope out various locations.

In my backpack, sealed inside a tall can, were my brave little garlic plants.

I found a nice private spot by a little pond, a bucolic area a few feet from the meandering path. Alone in my little spot in the park, I knelt down to carve a hole in the ground and plant the garlic there.

Fresh air, moist dirt and a nice view; everything a little plant needs. I hope they make it.

Maybe they will be trampled by one of the infrequent passers-by, or maybe they will get munched by the bunny wabbits. However, I have this feeling that they will live out their little garlic lives by the pond, reproducing modestly, not taking up too much room, and giving back what they took from the ground when they die.