A Dream of a Garden, Part Two

Now that I had a garden space, my mind was jumping from one idea to another… what would I plant? First, though, clearing was necessary: clearing of funky vibes, aka. “energies”, from my area, and clearing weeds and stones. Wait though…I needed to compose my vision, an intention. Thinking large, I decided the garden was to beautify and heal the neighborhood. ( note: this was a very gritty neighborhood in places)

With my man by my side, I did a clearing process..a lengthy, quite involved one. At one point into it, our mutual hair stood on end, from an eerie howling/cackling sound during what I have to describe as unsavory forces clearing out. It felt like an exorcism. With my partner’s help and that of a visiting friend, we cleared weeds and dug the soil, marking out a circumference with unearthed rocks. I drew up a plant list, herbs and flowers, after a powwow with the garden, and began wondering where I would get them. I mean, potted plants and nurseries are few and far between in a big city. Plus, this garden was a half-mile trek from my apartment.

Most of the plants ended up coming from repeated extra trips to Union Square Market. I’d take the subway, load up as many plants in bags as my skinny arms could carry, and take a different line on the return trip, one that brought me within a few blocks of the garden. It was hard work, I was frail. Sometimes my arms would shake for 10-15 minutes after putting down my plant haul. But, I had determination. Never had I wanted anything this fiercely in my life before.

Remember the man who invited me to garden in the fenced in area? Thom was his name. Well Thom wanted me to help a bit with his schoolchildren and garden ed session, once a week until the end of the program for the school year. Fine. The children were city kids, a bit toughly armored, but still longing to be outdoors, out of the classroom, in a place where they move and not sit. I can’t recall everything we did, besides weed, but at one point I casually plucked a bit of chickweed and munched. “You eat that?”, one of the more aloof girls asked me. “Yes”. “Well you’re alright”, she said, slightly nodding with a look of respect and acceptance.

School was out in few weeks, so I just focused on the garden, mainly trying to dig out enormous stones with a hand tool. I wanted to plant roses, and very deep holes were needed. There were several schools on the next blocks: one a high school, with rowdy teenagers, some of whom would give me “the eye” and challenging body posture as I walked by in the morning. The other was an elementary school across the street. Both were drab, a tree or two in the grass fronting the institutional buildings. And, as I’d mentioned before, the fenced garden plot itself was sandwiched in between two high rise buildings, another very large subsidized income one across the street.

The backdrop of the garden on three sides was not pretty. At the back was a bamboo grove and happily, a pokeweed. The bamboo was probably planted when the adjacent land was home to a nursery. Sometimes I’d dig up fragments of clay pots. I also dug up plenty of trash: broken glass and cruddy metal things. People sometimes would throw things out of the apartment building windows while I was working, and blast loud, obnoxious music. Sometimes a group of kids would walk by the fence in front and taunt me. Hmmph.

I think in the garden’s second year I began seeing changes. All along the half mile back and forth to my apartment was populated with a mix of private homes, duplexes, apartment buildings..a store or two..high rises, the schools, churches… a mix. One day I was started to notice that some people with tiny front yards were digging up the turf. Or people with tiny plantings were adding new flowers. Maybe that was not unusual, however, what I saw being planted were rather unusual, uncommon plants, same as I had in my garden. People would stop me sometimes, and talk “Garden” with me. The schools..this really got my attention..began planting flowers out front, and installing bird feeders. I’m not kidding. In the midst of summer, I noticed that classical music was the only music wafting out the open windows next door.

Another group of children appeared, boys, hanging on the side fence, saying naughty things, throwing stuff at me, though. This went on for days..a small sculpture was stolen from my garden. Thom got it back for me, as he suspected who’d taken it. But the boy troupe I had to give some thought to. The next time they appeared I stopped them in mid-profanity, and asked, “ Would you like to come in and look around?” “Oh, yes! Really?” Really. They smoothed down their hair, put their hands behind their backs,  and I let them in. Gosh, they were excited! I explained where they had to be careful walking, showed them different plants. They were happy when they left and never bothered me again.

One of the other things that happened with my garden, was a profound shift in the quality and content of my dreams. They became incredibly vivid, symbolic ( flaming giant roses, talking animals., other things I can’t even talk about). And I began to develop an acute sense of the environment, the seasons, when the strawberries would first appear at market, or the very weak the tomatoes would be at peak. A relationship ..not intellectual…with the nature cycles and rhythms of the year formed. Sometimes it astonishes me looking back and remembering how larger-than-life it all felt. Now it just islife.

The garden was my bit of life-sustaining oasis in a city I no longer wished to live in for nearly three years. Did I tell you that when I was in my twenties, I knew I’d move to the country before I was forty? Well, finally I was ready. The next spring I was beginning that dream, and my second garden.

I’m in my third garden now, and while I don’t know if it’s my last one, every one of the three gardens have been significant. They have made me,  I feel, not I them. Every one came to me in an extraordinary way…with a hefty dose of woo..and that dream of a garden continues, morphing and co-evolving with me. Here is the secret of such a garden I can share in a whisper: seeing with the heart, observing from a standpoint of wonder…freshly summoned every day, attentive presence…and gratefulness.