Harvesting Goodness
Recommend 1
Reactions 1
Comments 0
Gifts 0
Working in our community garden this summer yielded food for the body and soul.
By Nayda Rondon
The smell of ripe tomatoes fresh from the vine hung in the air as my daughter and I worked in companionable silence weaving in and out of the raised beds of vegetables and fruits. Through Members of the Earth Scouts, an organization dedicated to fostering and promoting environmental awareness and practices, we had helped plant and care for a community garden. With equal parts sweat and hopeful enthusiasm, we’d cleared our sunny little plot, then placed seeds in the rich soil. As the summer progressed we’d proudly watched the seeds grow into a verdant, thriving patch of green beans, zucchini, tomatoes, cucumbers, strawberries, eggplants, carrots, Swiss chard, broccoli, kale and cantaloupes.
As part of our Earth Scout volunteer duties, my daughter and I had gone periodically to water and weed, and then gathered on Fridays to take part in regular harvesting parties with our group. It often was hot, sweaty work—especially when we had to go back and forth repeatedly from the raised beds of our enclosed garden to a nearby brook to gather water to sprinkle on our thirsty plants. But just as often, it was fun and enjoyable. We’d even discovered a warren of baby bunnies burrowed in the ground of one of the tomato beds and instead of shooing them away or worse, we’d oohed and aahed at their cuteness, content to let them stay. Each time we returned, we saw the unmistakable signs of their feasting on our labors. OK, so perhaps true farmers would have made stew of the bunnies, but we were more than happy to be lenient landlords.
There was plenty to go around, and part of the fun was coming back to see how they were faring. They became the garden’s unofficial mascots. One Earth Scout mom and her kids even made a colorful sign that read “Bunny Family/Do Not Disturb,” which they’d placed prominently near the furry creatures’ home.
We also reaped the benefits of healthy produce, literally fresh from the garden. My daughter and I felt a deep sense of accomplishment and satisfaction in growing something with our own hands then having others savor them. I can still remember how we styled our first pickings in an artistic still life and took photos, which we later showed to family and friends with all the pride of new parents showing off their newborn.
Now at the start of October, the garden was winding down, but there were still plenty of tomatoes, green peas, carrots and kale to be enjoyed. My husband and mother-in-law had especially enjoyed the tomato and cucumber salads my daughter and I had prepared throughout the summer, and this afternoon we’d returned to see if we could gather the last of the season’s bounty for one final good-bye-to-summer meal.
My daughter was making good progress and I was bent over inhaling the tomatoes with my eyes closed. Behind me, I heard a voice.
“Excuse me. Do you belong to the garden club? I’ve been trying to contact someone from the club for the longest time, but have never been able to get a hold of the person in charge.” A middle-aged woman stood near the enclosed fence talking through the wire mesh. She was dressed in pants and a shirt, and carried a purse and plastic bag. Without giving me a chance to reply, she continued. “I live in the neighborhood and wanted to take some of the vegetables but didn’t want to take anything without asking. I came once before and a nice lady explained about the garden and told me it was part of a club, that members contributed money and labor and then came to take stuff. I wanted to join.
“I lost my job and have become a vegetarian so this garden would be great for me,” she said as she Ieaned closer into the fence. “I lost my job, but I can still pay. I want to pay. I don’t want to take anything without asking. Last time, the lady–she was blond and petite—let me take some things and told me I could come back again to join. I can pay.”
“Hi. Sure. Come in.” I smiled and motioned her in. She came in eagerly and after the three of us had introduced ourselves, I said, “The whole idea of our garden is to share. I’m sure none of the other members would mind if you helped yourself to some things. We don’t want food to go to waste. Please come in and take what you want.”
“Are you sure? Oh, thank you. Thank you.” She looked around. “I don’t know much about gardening, but I’m not eating any meat and have been eating lots of vegetables. Last time, I took some chard. It was delicious. The tomatoes were good too. But what’s everything else?”
“These are green beans,” my daughter squatted before some plants and uncovered the string beans hiding behind the leaves. “See?” She plucked some and held them out to the newcomer.
“Oh, I love string beans. I didn’t see them last time.” Our new friend made a gesture to take them from my daughter, then hesitated. “But I don’t want to take your food. Don’t you want it?”
“No, please, take it.” My daughter held the beans closer to the lady and we watched as she put it into her bag. My daughter then pointed out the carrots and demonstrated how to pull them out. From there, she went around with our visitor giving her a guided tour and samples.
Soon, the lady’s bag was amply supplied. Looking down at her pickings, she smiled and looked up at us. “Oh, you’re both so nice. Are you sure I can’t pay you? Don’t worry. These won’t go to waste. I live alone, but I can’t work right now because I’m sick. I want to eat healthy. I could really use these, as all I eat these days are vegetables. I really don’t want to take advantage. These are a lot. I want to pay.”
“Please. Please. Enjoy. It’s the end of the season so I wouldn’t take your money now. We’re more or less done with the garden for the year anyway, so save your money for next spring when you can join us. In the meantime, please take what you want,” I insisted.
“Don’t worry. You can take our share,” added my daughter, offering all she had picked to our guest. She took them all, and emboldened by our reassurances, continued picking among the beds.
Needing to get home to fix dinner, I explained that we had to leave, but invited her to stay and pick to her heart’s content. Her cheery good-byes and thank yous followed us to the car, where we waved her a final good-by.
My daughter got into the backset and buckled her seat belt. Beside her was our empty bag.
“We all set?” I called back into the rear.
She found my eyes in the rear view mirror. “I’m glad we were here,” she said. “We did a good thing, mommy.”
Yes, we did. Seems this last visit to our garden had yielded our richest harvest of all.
Nayda Rondon, a freelance writer and the author of two non-fiction books, is the proud mom of one amazing daughter. Currently, Nayda is the editor of BC THE MAGAZINE and is at work on a novel. A graduate of Syracuse University’s S. I. Newhouse School of Public Communications, she also holds a master’s degree from New York University.
Read more of Nayda's blogs:
Verify code (required)
Please re-enter code