Hit the Dirt; Tales of Gardening

Hello and welcome to another hit the dirt. Since I've taken up gardening as my main avocation my yearly schedules become flipped around whereas the summers used to be the time for vacations and ample chance to relax with a good book. Now summer is the busy season and winter is the part of the year I get to do most of my reading. So I thought it would be a pleasant change of pace to take out time now during the height of the summer to read to you a short tale written by Erica Saunders. I found it in the spring 1901 issue of Green prints magazine a publication which is subtitled chasing the soul of gardening and focuses not on the how to but rather in the why of gardening. The humor philosophy and inspiration garnered from nurturing plants and ourselves. Erica's story is entitled angel of mercy. And it reads. An angel of mercy. The church secretary said as she read over my shoulder the way she said it with a looping touch of melodrama. I wasn't so sure. Maybe she was poking fun at me. I straighten the cards she helped me pack up and peered at it again to be sure it was not too pretentious. I

want a vegetable garden but can't take it yourself. Call and I will plant one for you free of charge the card said. I want to help. I shrugged. I guess it was OK. I waved goodbye to the secretary now at her desk. But she was busy and didn't see me. A week later I had my first call. I parked in front of a dingy white apartment building with numbered doors weedy grass surrounded the building spilling over into a vacant lot. A few cars rusted in an oblong a rutted dirt a pair of lawn chairs facing each other on a Moen swath of grass Missa searing thin and black with graying hair. Answered my knock at Apartment 2. She walked with me through the tall weeds looking up at me smiling nodding along as I talked. I suggested I put stakes into Mark a plot she answered. Let's go and have some tea and think about it. Inside the tea kettle whistled and cookies were heaped on plates and covered with plastic wrap. This is great I said jiggling the hot teacup on my knee. There is room for as much corn as you could want. Getting water to it will be easy. Mrs. searing cradled a tea

cup and saucer in small hands and looked out the window. I had a garden when I was growing up. My grandmother taught me about plants when she was young she picked cotton in a searing turn to me. She told me those cotton bowls were razor sharp. Her hands would get just covered with tiny cuts. Some herbs she knew grew in the rows alongside the cotton. She chewed leaves and rubbed them on her hands to heal them. I set my cups down I could find out what Herb it was. If you like we could plant some in your garden. Mrs. searing sipped her steaming tea carefully. I enjoyed gardening. I never got to it my sons were grown up. I had seven sons she said. What do they do. I have only one left. He drives a taxi in Atlanta. I sit in my tea a clock on the end table tick quietly. What happened to the others. You know it's been hard for black boys to grow up this in that we had tea and cookies and a long talk about me. What I want to do with my life my plans.

Finally it was time for me to go. There's been no progress toward a garden. I looked through the grad at the unused tools in the back of my car. This had been a day wasted. Mrs. searing stood out on the steps and waved as I drove off. Thank you for coming to see me. My next assignment was a couple of weeks later at a big clabbered house painted green long ago standing on the front porch I peered through lease curtains into a dim overstuffed interior. I just knew there would be a clock ticking loudly on the mantel and the musty smell of old furniture mixed with old Lady rosy talc. I didn't get to find out because a voice yelled come around back. There was a porch in the back with a rickety steps creaking and ready to break. A cheery voice met me. Watch your step now. Come on in. I'll just get a sweater. I stepped into a yellow kitchen full of sun. The dishes wet everything very clean. A woman bustled into the kitchen looking energetic for a supposedly disabled elderly. Then I saw her jammed the top button of her sweater through the

stretched buttonhole. Her hands were claws with gnarled knuckles. There we are she smiled pushing her dentures in place with the tongue. Call me Hazel. Come on I'll show you my yard. She walked down the steps sideways but quickly holding on to the railing with both hands. I garden quite a bit when my husband was alive. He built this trellis here for me and the strawberry planter I saw the plan for it in a magazine. I made mental notes rebuild the porch steps reinforced the leaning trellis and prune the great pines that engulfed it. Replant the barren strawberry planter Hazel was talking nonstop cheerful and excited. I mumbled admiration for the great pines she managed a pair of clippers out of her house dress pocket and cut a half dozen slips for me to try out my garden. These are some of my favorites she said irises. Lavender pinkish some white green shoots poked out from among the weeds weed the bulbs I thought. Hazel dug a few bulbs up. She dropped them in a bag with some soil to keep them moist and push them into my hands. Another gift. He

was the children's sandbox. She had thought she'd planned something and it never did. Now it was full of grass and hollyhocks the hollyhock seated by a tall when nearby that fell this way for maybe five years ago. On and on she talked every square yard had a history. Well interrupted. I have my tools in the car. I'll start with weeding if you want I don't quite see where to put a vegetable garden. Oh Hazel said touching me on the arm. This is plenty for me. See I have lettuce in order chokes and peas over there and I get wonderful pears from this tree and that one is a cherry. I don't need much. Maybe I could fix those steps for you. Oh honey you have better things to do. She laughed a high young laugh. Come have some lemonade. You like lemonade. So I step sat on her porch steps and she on an ironwork chair. And we drank lemonade and a change of cookies. When I left she pushed a bag of cookies into my hands. Come again she said waving. A week later I pulled into the driveway of my third assignment full of resolution. This time

I would carry my shovel as I walked in. As I lifted my trunk lid to reach for it. My smile faltered past the garden gate a faded umbrella tilted over around white table spread with the glinting of plates. A picture of something pink and a white frosted cake coming through the creaky gate toward me. Presently a woman in a navy flowered dress talked a wisp of silver hair into place. She worked her hands together and smiled shyly a V with dimples. So glad you could come. For two years. I was an angel of mercy and my tools never left my car in my work clothes. I visited hoping in the way help was most needed. I listened ate cookies crackers and cake drank lemonade tea and soda pop. I left full of stories and advice and often my hands full of gifts. I was an angel of mercy. I let them do for me. And so concludes what I think is a really nice piece. I hope you enjoyed it. If you are interested in finding out more about green prince. The address is P.O. Box 1 3

5 5 Fairview North Carolina 2 8 7 3 0. That's P.O. Box 1 3 5 5 Fairview North Carolina 2 8 7 3 0. Wishing you the best in your garden endeavors. This is Keith Goldfarb. See you next week for another hit the dirt.