Something changed when our learning garden was established last year. Our staff anticipated what new life it would bring within its gates and to Cedar Crest as a whole. And yet, it still surprised us in so many wonderful ways. In that late winter and early spring, we prepared for its first growing season – bamboo trellises were made, rich soil was provided for the raised beds, flowering border gardens were imagined, and the realization of the shared work that this garden would ask of all of us became known. The raised beds of our garden would wind up teeming with an abundance of life throughout the entire summer and into much of the fall. Milkweed and sunflowers greeted you along the garden’s borders and entrance. Tomatoes, peppers, leafy greens, trailing gourds, carrots, radishes, beets, zucchini, cucumber, and beans created a space that transported once you entered its gates.
Something changed when our learning garden was established last year. The author, Alice Walker, in her essay, Childhood, speaks to the power of sharing in freshly picked fruit across generations (for her, a peach). Do you have a memorable fruit or vegetable you ate as a child? A blackberry along a forest’s edge, a watermelon from a farmer selling by the road, a tomato at your grandparents – what was it? Did you enjoy it? Were you speechless? Could gardens be a place for the radical work of inspiring tradition and just action in our current and future generations? I sure hope so. Embarking on the quest of curiosity and wonder isn’t a nebulous concept when you’re sharing in freshly picked tomatoes and peppers and cucumbers in the shade by a garden. It’s living experience.
Something changed when our learning garden was established last year. Hundreds of young people walked through its gates and explored its fruits, leaves, pollinators, and blooms. They left an indelible impression on the identity of our garden and how it is always being informed and informing. I hope that the garden returned the favor. We are well into spring now, and our learning garden is already revealing new life in exciting ways. Not only are our beds filling in with fruits and vegetables but the flowering plants on its borders are embracing their own unique personalities as well. The milkweed returned and a monarch stopped by to lay her eggs just a few weeks ago. I should have asked her how she found our small collective of pollinator-friendly plants but I was too stunned to ask. She found us. How? I hoped that she would find us before I even knew who she was. And then she was here. She found us.
Something changed when our learning garden was established last year. Our place was changed. We were changed. New invitations were sent out to the living world around us. Welcome. I can’t wait to see what new curiosities sprout up this year. Here’s to always learning how to pay attention. And paying it affectionately.