The gel-like mass bubbles and oozes. I stare in fascinated horror.
We all have phobias, things that give us the creeps…spiders… snakes or leeches…ugh, but a whole new phobia has hit the jackpot on my yuk-ometer— Chia seeds.
I recently started spouting seeds. These fresh greens taste wonderful and growing them is therapeutic for a summerstarved gardener. Alfalfa seeds grow easily, as do Mung beans, and after reading a magazine blurb on the benefits of Chia seeds, I decided to try them.
I went through my usual “sprout routine” with the Chias and soaked two tablespoons in a quart jar, planning to drain them onto a mesh-bottomed tray in the morning. After that, it was a matter of rinsing them three or four times a day, and soon, with little effort, the sprouts should be ready for salad-land.
Memories of old-time Chia Pets circled my head as I worked. The original Chia Pets are still on the market and have branched out to include a Chia Shrek and a Chia Sponge Bob Square Pants. Go figure.
The next morning I drained the Chia seeds, and now stare at the burbling mass they have formed. Yuk. Overcoming my revulsion, I set the jar upside down in the sink to drain.
But the Chias refuse to drain. Within ten minutes a large blob has formed and clings to the jar cap, quivering. Is it breathing? With some hesitationthe blob seems so alive—I open the lid and plop the whole mess onto my sprouting tray.
The blob hits the tray with a sucking sound and breaks into disturbing gelatinous colonies that spread, then stubbornly cling together in new groups.
Feeling totally creeped out, I spread the seeds over the mesh’s surface with a wooden spoon, but the Chia blobs will have nothing to do with this action. They stubbornly stick in their little cliquey groups and mutinously stare up at me. Alfalfa sprouts never act this way. They obediently spread out, willingly trying to fill the sprouting tray.
I look at the jelly-like Chia blobs, unsure of my next step. They pulse; each seed glares at me with a palpitating black eye.
That’s when I decide to cancel the whole project.
The oozing little eyes continue to stare as I start rinsing them down the drain. But suddenly I visualize a gelatinous colony growing and thriving deep in my house drainage pipes. That stops me cold. No, this won’t do.
I make up my mind. With firm purpose, I step out into the freezing winter morning and throw the batch off the back deck, flinging them out into the cold.
But that isn’t the end. Oh no.
Remaining vestiges cling to the sink bottom. They stick like glue to the sprouting jar lid. Later in the day, I notice several dried Chia blobs clinging defiantly to the front of my sweater.
Several days will pass before all traces of that nasty seed disappear from my house.
Unfortunately, they will probably start growing in the spring, and I will find a weird green patch growing beneath the kitchen deck.
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