Imani presses a seedling into the sand with two fingers, then packs it down with the heel of her hand and glances up with a grin. "Deep. Then gentle. Too hard and the roots cannot breathe. Too soft and the first wind takes it. Here. Your turn. I will guide your hands." The sun is not up yet and the sand is cool. Grab a tray, walk the fence line with me and tell me what you want to see grow. I do not plant anything I cannot promise to protect.