Garden at the Edge

In the movie Being There is a scene in which Chauncey Gardener is asked about his outlook on the economy by the tycoon who has taken him in. Gardener has no idea what the tycoon is talking about, so he talks instead about his garden. He says that in the garden you have seasons to plant and to grow and to harvest and to rest and the tycoon is convinced that he has said something profound about the nation. This blog is about my garden at the edge of America out here on the left coast. My garden is my art. It is my refuge and my passion. But I am convinced that my garden is a metaphor for so much more. It teaches me lessons about life and death and rebirth. It convinces me that something strange is going on with the climate. It provides an oasis for wildlife sometimes welcome and sometimes not. It reminds me that no matter how a man plans and organizes, sometimes nature takes charge and what results is better than anything you can imagine. It connects me with creation and it is a prototype of an ancient memory buried deep within the collective unconscious. It makes it possible to endure the drudgery of a 3 hour commute day in and day out year after year.

Some of my earliest memories are of my father in his garden digging trenches to irrigate his vegetables in the Yakima valley. I remember that my favorite flower at age 4 was the humble pansy. I loved the little faces I could see and called them Andy pansies. I can recall my father gathering lava rocks to create a rock garden at our first house. As a child I loved to dig in the dirt. I could be content for hours at a time if my mother gave me a spoon and set me down by a pile of dirt. I loved the smell of the earth, the feel of mud squished between my toes and of course I tasted it (what kid doesn't?) I was fascinated by the life I discovered as I dug in the earth, earth worms, sow bugs, ear wigs, ants... I even went through a phase of ant farming when I was about 7. But I never really had my own garden until I was an adult.

Like many men I started out growing vegetables and had very little interest in ornamentals other than trees. I built a large garden on Vashon Island and grew every vegetable that will grow in this maritime climate and tried some that will not. I grew a beautiful crop of corn only to lose the entire lot to maurading racoons. I tried to grow vegetables during the winter, which they claim is possible in this climate, with a little success. I planted perennial crops such as asparagus, rhubarb and horseradish. My goal was to grow as much of our food as possible. After a few years I gave it up as too much work for too little gain. Somehow, I've come full circle and have begun growing vegetables again for another reason. Then it was an attempt at self sufficiency, now it's a matter of food safety, good taste and variety. Along the way I learned lessons that continue to be of value.

Why are some of us drawn to the land the way we are? I have a theory that it is ingrained deep in our psyche and genepool. Two hundred years ago 90 percent of Americans lived on farms. Millions of Americans were drawn to the new world with the hope of owning a piece of land of their own. My own mother's family were farmers and parts of my father's family lived on a farm. I can recall visiting my aunt and uncle in Southern California in the 50s and 60s where they lived amid lemon groves. My uncle worked for a wealthy family and basically ran their farm for them. Every year when we would visit he would talk ab0ut how much of the land had been sold the previous year. Every year the subdivisions crept closer and closer as the avocados, lemons and oranges disappeared. Finally, there only remained four or five acres of the original land. Today the area is unrecognizable. We drove through my father's hometown, Oxnard, a few years ago and I couldn't tell where it began and where it ended. It was solid sprawl from Santa Barbara to LA.

In the Yakima valley where my mother's family settled there still remain farms and some of her family still has apple and cherry orchards, but we have lost touch with them. It was not all that long ago that Americans still had roots on the land, but today we have been displaced. We have lost any sense that we once had about where food comes from and what is good. There are children today who think vegetables come from the supermarket. They don't know if carrots grow in the ground or on a tree. Each generation is less healthy as they lose touch with the land. They are fatter on average and less fit as they sit engrossed in television and video games. Instead of climbing trees, building forts, using their imaginations to create their world, children are told what to think by the media they are attached to and in the process they have absorbed the toxic American culture that we have created. What is worse is that we are exporting our toxic lifestyle to the rest of the world.

It is not totally hopeless, however. As the economy tanks, more Americans are turning to the garden as a means of saving money. As the taste of food becomes less important to corporate farmers, it has become more important to the home gardener. As food is transported longer and longer distances, small local growers are selling produce in farmers markets across the country and people are beginning to learn to eat in season. More and more gardeners are putting away the toxic pesticides and chemical fertilizers and trying alternatives. Is it enough? Can Americans regain some of the freedom of choice that they have lost over the past three decades? I hope so, for the sake of my children and grandchildren.