The Secret Garden… By Whitney Farmer – Un Pop Culture

February 8, 2012 Whitney Farmer 7 Comments

Whitney runs a rock music venue on the beach in L.A.. She has an M.B.A, and – during shows – swipes gaff tape from roadies to use on her gardening blisters.

The 99cent Store has a rack of recycled clothes that included an ugly t-shirt a couple of weeks ago. It is yellow, and with green Star Trek font it says ‘2010 AP Biology Freedom High’ on one side, and ‘Birds do it…Bees do it…Even educated fleas do it…’ on the other. I paid a whole dollar for it, and I wear it as I garden.

It’s just started, and it’s not much to look at yet. Commandeered egg cartons on the kitchen counter sprout seedlings of beets, sunflowers, and snow peas. I look at them first thing while my coffee is brewing and I hold a sleepy fluffy dog as my toast toasts. The courtyard outside the kitchen door consists mainly of concrete and soil that is sandy and full of salt and seashells. But now it also has coffee grounds, peat, and mush from my juicer. It took me a long afternoon last week to transplant the forgotten landscaping that was left behind by the landlord, moving it into large clay pots so that she could have them back if she got sentimental. The ground was so hard that I had to stand with all my weight on the shovel, then rock back and forth until it started to make progress. The strawberries, pansies, and jasmine had mature roots that were ready to take the risk of being transplanted into the earth. But first, I had to sift through the soil and pull out all of the roots from interlopers that could interfere with the new inhabitants trying to get established. In yellow pots, there are two aloe plants, indigenous here before settlers learned from native tribes how useful they could be. Now, there is probably a greater chance of finding a murder victim on a hiking trail than a plant that heals.

I had forgotten how much I loved this. For my 7^th birthday, all my presents were for gardening: Rakes, shovels, gloves, even a Chinese peasant hat to keep me from getting sunburned. The woven bamboo and paper circle with a shallow indention for my head and a chinstrap was so enormous that I disappeared under it as I worked in the 3 foot by 3 foot square of dirt that was ours in the back patio of our apartment. My tomato plants never bore a harvest because the fence kept them in the shade. But they grew to almost five feet tall, and that pleased me.

The passion started when a teacher helped her students see the hidden marvel of a seed sprouting. She had us line a jar with a paper towel and then suspend lima beans against the glass. We put an inch of water in the bottom which the paper towel wicked up, making a moist cradle for the seeds. I didn’t know if it would work, but when it did, I was spellbound. I would stare at the sprout while trying not to breathe because I was sure that I could see it growing.

Somewhere I forgot about that wonder. My head and heart have filled with debris and tangled roots that might not show on the surface, but they can keep new life and ideas from sinking in deep roots. Everyone loves to go to the grocery store and smugly pick the biggest and brightest fruit. It is rarer to enjoy tilling barren soil, breaking it up and sifting through it for rocks and whatever else could cause new seed to starve, plowing it with a yoke around your fair neck if need be. The blisters form and break as you forget time and keep pressing with all your weight behind it until you break through. It’s all mess and dirt and pain that ends with the earth looking almost the same on the surface as when you started. But it is different. Now, it’s fertile.

The good thing about forgetting something wonderful is that it can be remembered. In that, it can be discovered again.

I live in a home that isn’t mine, in a place where everyone is perfect but me. But there is a patch of ground here that no one cares about that I can help to bloom.

In the book of Jeremiah is a prophesy written to the exiles from Jerusalem who had been carried away in captivity to Babylon. It reads: “Settle down. Plant a garden and eat its produce….Do not decrease. And seek the peace and prosperity of the city where I the Lord have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper…”

Archeological digs of Jerusalem show important differences between what life was like there before the conquest of Nebuchadnezzar compared to after when the exiles returned and restored the City. The excavation layers revealing life before captivity show entrenched idolatry dedicated to the gods of tribes in the surrounding areas.  The layers present after the return from exile and restoration of the city show no more idolatry.  Their time in captivity had purged them of the rocks and roots that interfered with pure worship.

Given a choice, exile and captivity in all their forms wouldn’t make any list of popular and preferred adventures. Most would rather jump out of planes or swim with sharks than be suddenly destitute, chronically sick, or broken hearted.  But the soil of our souls must be tilled and tended in order for seeds of creation to take root. The calm crust of our surface world is a desolate landscape that can become a garden if it is first broken open. And in every place of exile there is a patch of dirt where strawberries can grow.

Riddle of the Blog, from Dennis: “What is greater than God, more evil than the devil, the poor have it, the rich need it, and if you eat it, it will kill you?…Answer: Nothing.”