Eating From Our Roots Novels & Stories

she said, pointing to a cluster of trees that seemed darker than the rest. As they approached, they saw it: a gnarled, blackened plant growing at the base of a tree. Its twisted roots seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy, and the air around it hummed with power. “That has to be the Dark Root,” Dani said, her voice trembling. Eli stepped closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. “We need to destroy it.” “Wait,” Lyla said, grabbing his arm. “What if it’s connected to the forest? Destroying it might cause more harm than good.”

It was the only thing Mama and I had in common, our shared desire to live someplace always warm. At the end of the day, with our limbs numb from digging roots from the frozen earth, we huddled together and ate a flavorless meal. Occasionally, once or twice a week, we would have oats made with molasses. It was our only treat as the days ran together while we waited for the lush green bounty of spring. Tonight would not be one of those nights.

Richard said, heading towards the stairs, but she hurried after him. “Mr. Grouchy.” “Mmm?” “You know I’m a farmer’s daughter, right? While exploring Vegas, I bought some root vegetables.” “Root vegetables? What’s that?” he asked. “They grow underground and are often harvested by hand.” “Why are you telling me this?” “I made a delicious soup from them,” she smiled. “So?” “I don’t know if you’d like to try it. It’s a local meal, very healthy. If you’re not interested, I’ll…”

Everything else he'd learned to do without. A coworker named Marcus had sent him a text that morning: You need to eat something that isn't depressing. Trust me on this. The link took him to a restaurant called Roots. Italian-inspired, family-owned, great reviews. Fifteen minutes from his office. Perfect. Owen told himself he was just hungry.

At the full, improbable, beautiful fact of eighteen people eating together on a December day in a house that had been built from love and was demonstrating, in this precise moment, that it had been built well enough to hold whatever it needed to hold. She thought: this is the above-ground version. All of this — the food and the people and the voices overlapping and the Iris on her chair asking for more of everything and Leo explaining something to Dr. Voss’s husband who turned out to be an engineer and therefore found Groundwork’s architecture immediately fascinating and Mae drawing everyone who held still long enough. This is the above-ground version of twenty-one years of root work. This i

The ground kept them. He thought: the ground will keep Ruth. The ground will keep Ernest and Don — not in the biographical sense but in the soil sense, the way that the 1920s gardeners are in the soil. The programme's account in the ground. The foxgloves' roots. The quince grove's root zone. The south wall roses' root structure. These are in the ground and the ground keeps them and the ground will continue keeping them after the keeping-producers are gone.

"The Sombra-Net is losing its 'Central-Authority.' The roots are 'Severing' themselves from the Global-Link and 'Bonding' to the 'Silent-Humans.' You are 'Domesticating' the planet's consciousness." "We aren't domesticating it, Kael," Avery said, her voice resonant with the strength of the roots beneath her feet. "We’re 'Conversing' with it. You wanted a 'Garden of Perfection,' but we wanted a 'World of Neighbors.' The roots have chosen the 'Neighbor.'"

“We can’t tell the elders. They’ll just seal it up and forget about it. They won’t understand. They’ll think it’s just a piece of old junk. But we know it’s not. We know it’s connected. It’s drawing power. What if it’s drawing more than just power? What if it’s waking up?” The thought was too terrifying to ignore. Leo knew she was right. They had to know. Grimly, he nodded. “Okay. But carefully.” They used Leo’s knife to carefully scrape away the soil from the energy root. The root was thick and pulsed with a soft, golden light. It was alive. Cutting into it felt like a violation. Sela held the broken rod, its crystal end pointing towards the door’s panel. Leo took two thin, conductive wires

She pressed her hands flat against the warm earth. The roots below. Seven plants. The territory breathing. The lit windows. All the people. All the work. The record growing. The formation traveling. The companion thing reaching. The preliminary assessment beginning. The unclaimed land on the map. The center as garden. The roots deepening. The water still. Rising still. Always. The new cutting rooted. The beginning. The specific moment when something had decided to stay. When the roots had found the ground. When the ground was good.

It would be hard to bump into another god that was willing to help her. “I'll listen to you, Poison.” “Then.. your food is on the table, you should eat.” Violet followed him to the table and played with the plate containing greens and some other stuffs that were meant to be healthy. She frowned and grabbed the spoon, staring at it distastefully. “You shouldn't look at food like that. Everything is energy, including food. If you look at your food with remorse and eat it anyways, it won't nourish you to the greatest of its ability.”