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.

The Strawberry Theory

I was out this morning picking strawberries for breakfast when it occurred to me that my small patch offers a valuable lesson. Based on the KISS theory (Keep It Simple Stupid), I am developing what I call the Strawberry Theory. Mind you, I am developing it as I write and I came up with it over a cup of coffee, a handful of ripe fresh-picked berries, and a cool moist NM spring morning. Briefly stated, the theory says: If it’s difficult, you’re doing it wrong.

When I look at the instructions for planting, propagating, and harvesting strawberries, I find pages addressing proper spacing, watering, and planting depth techniques. A typical entry reads

“…most gardeners set plants 2-3 ft. apart in rows 4-5ft. apart, let runners fill in until plants are 7-10 in. apart, then keep additional runners pinched off. Keep the rows 20-30 in. wide. “

Huh? How did strawberries ever survive without us? And don’t get me started about adjusting the pH! If it’s that difficult, you’re doing it wrong! For my own patch, I was given three plants which I stuck in the ground and watered. That’s it. Two years later I have a 10’ x 10’ patch that produces well enough to fill my early morning stomach every couple of days. I don’t see any difficulty in that. I don’t see any reason to complicate a process that has worked successfully on its own for millennia.

I am painfully aware that everything in life will not adhere to the strawberry theory. It takes timing, effort, creativity, and finesse to deal with a day. Just getting a half hour of uninterrupted face time with my wife is a three day endeavor it seems. In the garden, there is always a pest to fend off, the heat or the hail to prepare for. My kids love to pull weeds but can’t tell a goathead from a tomato.

But at work, I’ve hit that groove where it’s a safe haven. It must be the combination of fresh air, ingested microbes, and good customers. The enthusiasm of most customers can’t help but buoy me out of the desiccative denseness of daily life. I am surprised when I get bombarded daily by exasperated newcomers to the gardening scene who ask incredulously “That’s it? I don’t have to add blood meal, bone meal, vermiculite, fertilizer ever third day unless there’s a tornado in Iowa?” or some such. I try to calmly explain that the soils here in NM are pretty good, only lacking in organic material. A little addition of compost is really all you need to grow a luscious crop of berries.

I can’t help but wonder if I took a few lessons from the garden, though, if my life outside of work wouldn’t fit somehow better into the theory.