My dog Gigi and I went for a walk in my garden yesterday. Since it was a cold, winery day in February, it was covered in snow.
All that remained from last summer’s harvest were the mounds that once held potatoes and a few brown, unrecognizably, withered plants in crumpled heaps along barely-visible rows. I had to think hard to recall what they once were: Tomatoes? Peppers? Tomatillos?
I spied a bit of quarter-sized green popping out of the snow. I knew instantly what it was. Only mustard greens could survive the harsh winter. I smiled at their tenacity. Like the stubborn pioneer they seemed to proudly say, “By Golly, I made it this far and worked this hard, a little bit of winter isn’t going to get the best of me!”
The sight of that tiny plant caused my mind to race back to the Monte Cristo sandwiches with mustard greens that I made last summer. Oh! And the Indian style mustard greens with cumin that filled my house with a divine, spicy aroma. my mouth watered at the memory of the big pot of mixed greens I made with the mustard and kale. In one instant I was inspired to both garden and cook.
There were no other signs of life in the snow.
But my garden was quiet alive…with memories.
I recalled the day a car stopped on the adjacent street, rolling down her window she asked what I was harvesting.
“Mustard greens” I yelled.
“Oh I love me some mustard greens!” she yelled back. “Can I get some too?”
“You sure can.” I responded. “In fact you can have anything you want in the garden.
“Oh Good! I’m going to come back and get some and fix me a big pot of greens…with bacon!”
“You do that!” I smiled.
She drove off with a sense of purpose. The next day I noticed all the mature mustard had been harvested.
Another day while I was gingerly digging around the base of the potato plants to find new potatoes, three elementary age children stopped by out of curiosity. They wandered around the garden looking at the plants with no sign of recognition.
“Do you know what those are?” I pointed at the plant they were gathered around.
They shook their heads in response. I stopped my digging and introduced them to each plant. I showed them the cherry tomatoes that weren’t quite ready for picking yet, the blooms of the watermelon, the tiny zucchini and together we sampled the snow peas.
“What were you digging?” they asked
“New potatoes” I replied.
I could tell by their blank expression that my words meant nothing to them.
“Come over here and I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”
I opened my bag and showed them the small red, yellow and white potatoes I had just unearthed from the mounds. Their eyes got big with excitement.
“Do you like potatoes?” I asked
“Yes! I like mashed potatoes! one of them said excitedly.
I took them to a row of potatoes and demonstrated how to gently dig around the base of the plant near the surface to uncover the tiny tender tubers.
It was as if I had shown them buried treasure…perhaps I did.
I gave them each a bag and they excitedly began unearthing new potatoes to take home. I told them to take only what they thought they would eat and to come back in about a week to get some green beans to go with them.
I love my garden.
I love it because it isn’t just MY garden, it is the community garden.
I don’t own my garden. I didn’t plant my garden. I don’t harvest everything from my garden. I simply contribute to my garden along with many other people. Some plant, some water, some weed and many harvest.
My garden is just one of over 50 community gardens in South Bend established by Unity Gardens.
Frankly I take away very little produce from it because for me the greatest harvest is the investment in my community. Because that garden exists, I get to interact with neighbors that I wouldn’t otherwise meet. I get to help children learn joy of growing and harvesting your own food. I get to see hungry people fed and fed people give back to the community.
That’s MY garden. It’s your garden too. I hope to see you there.
But If you want mustard greens you better get there before I do!
—
Joel Barrett
http://www.reason2return.net
South Bend, IN
(574) 226-9550
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