Loretta Burwell-Gilead, GPC Faculty
Mr. Ade stood at the edge of my plot at the community garden
intently looking around. After some
moments he said, “Loretta, I see you have been to college.”
What on earth? Not many
people knew that I taught English at a local two-year college; at the garden,
we talked about soil, weeds, mulch, and plants, not about academia. Here it comes, I thought. When people find out what I do for a living,
they act like I’m going to correct their grammar or something.
But he continued, “You
finally learned to plant in a straight row—no more teepees.” Well!
I stood from my weeding and put my hands on my hips. The lilting accent of the Cameroon was
suddenly no longer charming. These were
fighting words.
“Ade,” I said, “you’re on my list.” That didn’t stop him; he just laughed. “Yes, you’ve learned something from Mr.
Lucas; your beans are in a straight row.”
He went away still laughing, not at all intimidated by my stream of
words about what kind of list he was on, and that he was at the top of it.
Now,
I will be the first to admit that Mr. J. W. Lucas from Wilson, North Carolina
is the best gardener out there. No
question about it; he’s a gardener par excellence, but where is it
written that all gardens must be in straight rows?
“I don’t see God planting in straight rows,” I said to Ade on
another day as we continued our “discussion.”
That was enough to silence him for that day anyway.
I
love my garden. It may not be
conventional, but I like it that way.
On three sides of the garden I have a mixed border of herbs and flowers,
and in the middle are the vegetables.
Some years the beans climb up teepees; some years they are in rows. But I
think it’s the flowers that get the conventional gardeners. Though Ade and the others probably won’t say it to my face, they can’t
understand why I “waste” so much space on the flowers. While they’re growing some serious food, I’m
using much of my space on cleome, marigolds, petunias, yarrow, and
hollyhocks. I simply love the look; a
mixed garden appeals to me. Besides, I
have more than enough vegetables for eating and preserving, and I enjoy playing
with colors and textures in flower groupings.
It sounds perfectly normal to me.
I
might have gotten by with just being “different” in my garden design, too, if
it hadn’t been for Joe Woodson who saw me eating a flower one day. I explained all about edible flowers for
your salad—which ones in my garden he could eat, which ones he could not. I even tried to get him to eat a nasturtium
or a viola. Hmpft! All I did was to give “them” more
ammunition. Now when we gather after a
sweat filled afternoon to watch our primroses open at dusk, Joe is sure to
tease me. “Yeah, and you have to watch
this one; she eats flowers.” Naturally,
he’s on the list.
I
recognize the good-natured teasing as left-handed compliments. I work very hard in my garden, and though
the garden may not be conventional, the teasing shows that my work is appreciated. And, in turn, I appreciate the work of the
other gardeners as well. Once in a while, I don’t go there to work, but just to
look around. Wanda’s garden is always full
of heirloom tomatoes and odd things like purple peppers and lavender eggplant. Wade’s grapevine is trussed up in such a
convoluted shape that it is a wonder to behold; and Quentin always has masses
of greens in the fall that remind you of down
home. And then there’s Mr.
Lucas, a retired gentleman, who spends more time out there than anyone, many
times entire days. Whenever you are
running around doing your errands and pass by the garden, the red van is
there. And what a garden he has, with
lush rows of beans, tomatoes, peppers, “Red Russian” kale, cucumbers,
squash—and those gigantic sunflowers on the outside of the line. (After all, “real” gardeners don’t put
flowers in with their vegetables.)
It’s all beautiful. My straw
hat’s off to him.
It’s
the “community” in Rockdale Park Community Garden that makes the garden so wonderful;
it is one of the things that I love most about it. Many of the people there have become like family to me, even the
ones on “the list.”
So, in the spirit of family
forgiveness, I may let Joe back into my good graces, especially since he promised
to bring me some blackberries from the patch at his house.
As for Ade—well, perhaps there’s hope for him. Last week I saw him staring at all the bees in my hollyhocks. He even showed me the pollen on their backs and excitedly explained that he has planned to create a hive in the back of his house; it is his dream. And since the bees seem to like hollyhocks so much, could he have some seedlings? Aha! Mr. Ade from the Cameroon is going to plant flowers. Imagine that. I wonder if they’ll be in a straight line.