DO SOMETHING
Thus reads a bumper sticker given to me by a friend. It’s on my car.
But what?
Confronted with the pandemic, Black Lives Matter, the global climate crisis, economic inequality, political intransigence, public incivility, some personal family problems, and among other things, the edict to STAY HOME, I was confused, depressed, fearful, sad, marooned, stuck.
At some point, in early March, I joined many others with the resolution to build and cultivate a garden. That may sound like a small thing, but to me, at least, it was something. I aspired to grow food for us, to share with friends and neighbors, and to donate to our local food shelf.
From the action of building a garden, I learned a lot.
In the design process I relearned what we advocate in our consulting with schools:: collaboration and engagement in the creative process. At first I staked out three raised beds in our south lawn…then four. Louise questioned the location. She also raised the idea of thinking of the garden as an outdoor room. She found some images of gardens that appealed to her. At first I resisted…thinking, a garden’s a garden…you grow vegetables there…to eat…a room?…with flowers, too?
But then, something clicked, and an image started to take shape. I was intrigued with how two ideas worked together. First, a warning from a couple of veteran neighbor gardeners that you have to build some sort of fence/barrier to keep critters out, otherwise you’d basically growing food for critters. And, second, the room.
So I created schematic drawings.
Again, my partner was not sure…it seemed too much…and she wondered where we should place it. She called in a friend, a wonderful gardener from down the road a piece. She had a great idea for where to site the garden. From there, the schematic moved into construction.
During construction there were a couple more “tweeks” to the design to do with the varying depth of the beds and the width of the railing. And there were some “tense” moments when what was drawn and what was being built did not align with what was envisioned in between. Those resolved.
And now there has been the garden itself…the PLANTS in the SOIL. I’ve relearned that gardening is a dance between humans and mother nature. I’ve watched seeds sprout and grow…and some sprout and wither and die. I’ve watered…sometimes too much, sometimes too little. I’ve wondered about the fertility of the soil, and added organic fertilizer. Some things helped. Some did not. I’ve seen seed from the same packet sprout and grow…and some sprout and sit dormant. I’ve witnessed the hottest June recorded in Vermont weather history and watched spinach (a plant that thrives on cool nights in our early May/June) stagnate and die.
I’ve consulted with my neighbor gardeners. I’ve read religiously in the Bible…no, not that one, this one: The Vegetable Gardener’s BIBLE, by Edward C. Smith. I’ve sat on the garden bench and meditated with the plants.
I am deeply grateful for this on-going garden experience. I feel more in touch with the natural rhythms that surround us. The garden is a provocation (in a good way…in the Reggio sense) to wonder more…to ask why? And, in that wondering mode, I feel more connected to my life and more able to address the tragedies in our daily lives.
The garden is a safe haven from the pandemic. I sit in the garden and read How to Be an Antiracist, by Ibram X. Kendi and How to Be Less Stupid about Race, by Crystal M. Fleming. The garden provides empirical data on our shared global climate crisis. The garden offers us the chance to conduct our own small scale, organic garden experiment, the privilege of good food…and economic advantage, and the chance to share. The garden requires of me vigilant responsibility. There are benefits and continued challenges. And most of all, the garden is grounding in a time when we all must find healthy ways to live, learn, and contribute to change in our turbulent times.
