Friends and the Garden

I'd like to discuss the value of gardens. I mean to get past the obvious values: fresh fruits and vegetables, beautiful flowers, shade, stress release, exercise, creativity, solitude peacefulness, energy savings, etc.

I have been seeing A LOT of people lately at the compost site; a lot of regulars, usuals, and first timers alike. Not many of them are from San Francisco, nor are they poets with an interest in French literature. Yet every person coming through our gates has something in common: gardens. Some are starting new gardens, some are old hands; some are revitalizing an old orchard, some are remodeling an inherited garden. Everyone is smiling. Everyone has committed to make the trek to what I call our South Valley Paradise.I don't see that kind of elation in a hospital, or office, or shoe store, or even in a restaurant. Gardeners are naturally happy people.

But there is something more.When I was young and surfing in the Pacific everyday, I was always struck by the camaraderie that seemed inherent in the lifestyle.Old guys, young guns, lawyers, bums, long boarders, short boarders, single fin, three fins; we all knew something that the "landlubbers" didn't know. The "pure stoke" of playing in the ocean transcended our differences. I would have choked back then to make this comparison, but gardening is akin to surfing.

Here at the site, we have seen three or four groups of soldiers recently. I don't agree nor envy the lifestyle they've chosen. In fact, along with over-population, I believe the military is THE cause of all our problems both domestically and internationally. But individually, in the quest for a good tomato, these guys are alright.

Most of my lasting relationships encompass gardens. I remember a picture of a woman on her porch. Her pain and worries were so large to us at the time. But in this picture a rampant party of cosmos overwhelmed the stress and she looks happy. My wife gave me a large bouquet of daisies after we first met. We celebrated my father-in-laws life under a new built arbor freshly planted with honeysuckle.

As I grow older, I find that real, deep, meaningful relationships come fewer and farther between; the spaces now filled with work, children, bills. I don't find the time to lay open my deep concerns nor admit that I've failed at something or someone. But given the right circumstances, smothered with a healthy dose of garden talk, I find that there is time and a real desire to share openly and honestly. I am developing a new friendship with a fellow gardener. Through mulch, tansies, and grand hoop-house dreams, we have broken the wall of friendly chit-chat. We have admitted failure and discussed tribulations. Mohandas K. Gandhi is quoted as saying: "To forget how to dig the earth and to tend the soil is to forget ourselves." Amid the lettuce and the weeds, my new friend has allowed me to reach an understanding that I am human.