The Garden: Learnings

After spending one year and five months on a waitlist, I am finally assigned a plot in the community garden. I pick up my key from city hall, elated, and sit on a nearby park bench daydreaming about the potential of my garden. The abundant harvest I’d gather in the fall, the perfectly-aged overalls I’d find in a vintage shop, the new friends I’d casually chat with in between stretches of quiet, meditative gardening.

It should be noted that my gardening experience is classified as novice at best. But this has opened all experiences to learning experiences, and it feels right to document them each month.

Amending the Soil

Before gardening begins, one must “amend” the soil. This is what Ben and Margo tell me on day one, as I run my hands over arid, sandy soil that fills my barren plot. I make a plan to walk the mile over to our gardening center and carry a bag of amend for the soil. Novice experience shows through. Bags of soil are heavy, like could hurt your back if you carry them incorrectly heavy (I’m in my 30’s now, I can say these things). I abandon the walking plan and enlist Joey’s help to trek three bags of soil from the car to the plot.

Next, one must alternate between watering the soil and sifting it to properly incorporate both the amend and the water to reach the lower levels of ground. I learn you don’t do this with a hand tiller or, worse, your hands. You do this with a full-sized rake. Ben laughs as I mention the sweat I’m breaking from the raking and mixing. “You have no idea what you’re in for.” Comforting.

Planting and Protesting

When I received my key, the city hall coordinator shared the garden would only continue for six more months - the city sold the land to a soulless developer for a fancy-schmancy, overpriced, high-rise (no creative liberties taken in this description). I wondered how the other gardeners felt. Would we be making the best of these final months? Quietly planting then going gently into that good night? I quickly learned - fuck no. We are protesting and planting.

Claus is the one unofficially leading this charge. I catch him one afternoon to introduce myself briefly then stay pinned to a one-sided conversation that lasts until I can feel a sunburn solidly imprint my shoulders and nose (also, one must wear sunscreen in the garden. And everyday). In between stories of his “knee-deep” grief over the passing of his three, identically named, miniature schnauzers ten years ago and his attempts to properly memorialize them with a large poster greeting each gardener upon entrance, he shares public forums we plan to protest. “We” is used as it is already determined I will be joining the next three forums. Within two days, I’ve become a gardener and a community garden activist.

Squirrel Battles

Because my plot had been unoccupied for some time since my plantings, squirrels had taken a liking to hiding their nuts throughout my soil. This caused a battle for which I was wholly unprepared. On Sunday, I plant my first vegetables - carrots, lettuce, and cilantro. I well with pride, telling everyone in my vicinity the news. Daydreams of a huge harvest start up again and float with me as I briefly left town. Upon return, all of my carrots and lettuce are uprooted. Not to worry - an easy re-plant. The next day, the carrots again are torn apart. Re-planting with a little less optimism now. Later that day, Stephanie sends me a video of a squirrel taking my little garden markers with the caption “what a brazen little shit” and the suggestion to add blood meal to my soil.

The next day, I mix the blood meal and plant ginger roots as a small celebration for staying one step ahead. “Ha!” I’m assuming the squirrel said. Ginger roots are violently strewn across my plot when I visit next - a big middle finger to “step ahead.” Margo jumps in next, dropping a large net by my feet as I re-re-re-plant my poor dismantled seedlings. The net works in keeping the squirrels at bay, but are crushing my lettuce leaves so I unearth the net and take Ben’s advice: fill the rest of the plot. I bring a haul of seedlings the following day and heartily fill my plot - oregano, rosemary, mint, arugula, and tomatoes. Fortunately, no new signs of squirrel damage, but my realism is cautious not to call this battle officially over.

Gardener Text Thread

Our gardening group is lively and passionate, but not necessarily about gardening. Claus adds me to the text thread of 20 gardeners and after welcoming pleasantries, the conversations turn acerbic. Vera is upset that she was “bullied” into attending out last forum focused on “mental health services” which actually was meant to exclusively discuss services to combat the fentanyl epidemic. Claus pushes back, harshly, that no bullying was involved. Sonia calls Ben and Vera “bigots” followed by hours of tense paragraphs-long messages about the ethics of transitions (during Pride Month, no less). Later, Ben makes an open offer for free weed that he’s grown. I immediately text my interest and then message Sonia privately to share I’m not okay with Ben by any means, but free weed is free weed. She shoots back that his weed is weak with a bad aftertaste along with a working theory that this is an attempt to clear his now tarnished name. She’s right about both.

Everyday seems to bring new drama within the group, but also new challenges within the neighborhood. On Tuesday, expensive sound equipment is mysteriously found near Ben’s plot. The gardeners speculate its meaning. The group lands on the theory that it came from land surveyors planning for the development. This turns the group both irate and saddened, a pitiful mix during lunchtime. Later, Ben reveals it collects ambient sounds for a friend’s ASMR Youtube channel.

On Wednesday, a dog is left tied outside our gate. Sonia shoutouts on the text thread and the group leaps to action - making calls around the city, getting in contact with the nearest vet, and spreading word across the internet. It worked. The dog is reunited with their owner within two hours and shares with us that it was stolen at gunpoint in DTLA and left in WEHO shortly after.

On Thursday, Marco notes caterpillars on his tomato leaves, and crowdsources for milkweed to protect the insects’ transitions to butterflies. The group eagerly responds, making a plan to propagate enough milkweed to share with all plots, ensuring all caterpillars a safe journey (away from our vegetables). Such a misconception that these gardeners would be docile and quiet. They are fierce and passionate, in the highs and the lows.

The Anawalt Support System

One final pleasant surprise in this month’s gardening journey is the supporters who work at the local garden center. I have learned that people love to share updates on their gardens. And with so many frequent visits, there are so many opportunities for updates. Terry’s tomatoes are growing beautifully and Lionel has been focusing on eggplant varieties. Jake shares nothing but throws sarcastic comments at me about my choice in seedlings. Every trip is completed with instructions on how to treat my tomato’s leaves and more details on how Terry plans to spend his retirement, fast approaching in August. As with the gardening group, the Anawalt staff deserve a big shoutout for their support - it has made this first month much more achievable.

Current plants: carrot, gem lettuce, radish, cucumber, early girl tomato, arugula, new red fire lettuce, oregano, ginger, mint, cilantro, parsley, lavender, and orange hat tomatoes. More to share next month, but in the meantime, man, I’m feeling proud so far.

(Photo: It’s Complicated)

*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.