Over spring break, I spent a lot of time at the community garden. Before spring break, I hadn't been able to get out there too much because of papers, campus visits, and all that. So once I did go out, the plot was overgrown and my kale (pictured) was about 2.5ft tall. And our vegetables did so well, not because of any great skill on my part, but because the community has been tending the soil for over 30 years.
So there's a narrative of sustainability: community gardens are (mostly) public spaces where people come together to share experience, knowledge, and tools, but also where they can share an identity. People can go to get away from the city and just be in nature for a while, working with the plants and soil. Like parks and markets, social spaces like gardens give folks an opportunity to come together and meet their neighbors. People can go to share stories and planting tips with their neighbors or just chat while they work. But the community garden, unlike city parks or other public spaces, is unique in that generations of neighbors have come together to make sure that the soil will be fertile and that the plants will be healthy.
When we're talking about sustainability, it's important to keep thinking about the future, that we need to consider what's fair and right, not only for ourselves, but for the generations that come after us. And Sunshine Community Gardens, which was founded in 1979, is proof that people can come together to work toward the future. Because generations have been fertilizing, tilling, and rolling the soil, my plants have grown much bigger and healthier here than what I've grown at my own house, a plot I started about a year and a half ago.
There's also something compelling about working beside the people you live with, but otherwise don't really get to meet. One of my plot neighbors has been out at Sunshine for 25 years, and countless times already she's given me insight about how to thin plants healthily and has shown me the best way to tend soil. I already knew a fair bit about gardening and have grown my own food, but working beside veteran planters has, in turn, made me better. Just by sharing that space, we share a history of the space, of the neighborhood, and of urban farming.
Things are better when we share, but when we share with the goal of making tomorrow better, we're not only cultivating kale, and arugula, and pumpkins, but also our neighborhood. On Saturdays, you see families with small children, creating memories that they'll pass on to their families. In the summer, folks kick back on the community porch and just spin stories of what used to be here, local histories you can't find in the library. And otherwise, the service and labor you share with your community just gives you a sense that you're part of something, which is why I love working with my neighbors.
Over the next few weeks, I'll start posting links to organizations and opportunities to get involved in our community (and also a few farm recipes to look forward to!).