Seeds
Every season at the farm begins in the nursery — the dynamic center of the farm where new life quietly takes shape. Under the greenhouse, trays of soil mixed with compost and coco husk hold seeds that will become the next cycle of vegetables, support species, and fruit trees. Almost all of these seeds have been saved from our own fields, others exchanged with nearby farms or brought in to try new varieties. Each tray is marked with date and name, and once the seeds sprout, the nursery fills with a kind of rhythm — a hum of watering, transplanting, and tending that connects everyone who works there.
The nursery gives us the chance to observe closely — how different seeds respond to heat or shade, how the same plant behaves when sown in February versus July. Some grow vigorously; some wait for the right light and humidity. This small space becomes a place of quiet research, where we learn to read the language of germination and care. It is where the next season begins long before planting happens in the field.
Every season at the farm begins in the nursery — the dynamic center of the farm where new life quietly takes shape. Under the greenhouse, trays of soil mixed with compost and coco husk hold seeds that will become the next cycle of vegetables, support species, and fruit trees. Almost all of these seeds have been saved from our own fields, others exchanged with nearby farms or brought in to try new varieties. Each tray is marked with date and name, and once the seeds sprout, the nursery fills with a kind of rhythm — a hum of watering, transplanting, and tending that connects everyone who works there.
The nursery gives us the chance to observe closely — how different seeds respond to heat or shade, how the same plant behaves when sown in February versus July. Some grow vigorously; some wait for the right light and humidity. This small space becomes a place of quiet research, where we learn to read the language of germination and care. It is where the next season begins long before planting happens in the field.
Over the years, we’ve built a growing collection of seeds — brinjal, okra, pumpkin, cowpea, amaranth, gourds, leafy greens, and many others suited to our red soil. We let certain plants flower and go to seed, marking them for collection. After drying and cleaning, seeds are stored in packets and paper bags with the date and season marked. These seed packets are a small record of the land’s memory — what has adapted, what has failed, what has returned stronger after a year of rest.
The nursery is also where our work for biodiversity takes root. Alongside vegetables, we raise saplings of fruit trees, forest species, nitrogen fixers, and flowering plants — all part of the living network that sustains the farm. Many of these saplings are shared with other Auroville farms, gardens, and community spaces, helping to extend diversity across the landscape.
Working with seeds reminds us that agriculture begins with trust — a faith in the invisible. Each small seed carries the genetic memory of adaptation to this soil, this water, this light. By saving seeds, we keep alive a relationship and dialogue between the farmer and the land.
Over the years, we’ve built a growing collection of seeds — brinjal, okra, pumpkin, cowpea, amaranth, gourds, leafy greens, and many others suited to our red soil. We let certain plants flower and go to seed, marking them for collection. After drying and cleaning, seeds are stored in packets and paper bags with the date and season marked. These seed packets are a small record of the land’s memory — what has adapted, what has failed, what has returned stronger after a year of rest.
The nursery is also where our work for biodiversity takes root. Alongside vegetables, we raise saplings of fruit trees, forest species, nitrogen fixers, and flowering plants — all part of the living network that sustains the farm. Many of these saplings are shared with other Auroville farms, gardens, and community spaces, helping to extend diversity across the landscape.
Working with seeds reminds us that agriculture begins with trust — a faith in the invisible. Each small seed carries the genetic memory of adaptation to this soil, this water, this light. By saving seeds, we keep alive a relationship and dialogue between the farmer and the land.
