Robbins Farm Garden

A Cooperative Learning Project

Much better

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After my post earlier today about having no visitors yesterday, Oakes must have taken pity on me and shared some of his Pied-Piper-ish abilities with me because today when I returned to do a couple of chores, I had far more visitors. 

One was sort of a drive-by, a woman who mentioned she didn’t realize we were there, but who didn’t show much more interest as she continued on to her pressing destination.

A couple of mothers, with three kids in tow, stopped to chat, showing lots more interest despite lacking, I would say, a burning desire to get involved themselves next year. Two sons of one mom were only interested in whether my dog, seated serenely outside the gate, was indeed my dog. The older one asked, and I answered. Then the younger one asked, more quietly, but seeking the same knowledge I’d just given out.

Later, a gaggle of youngsters came by, eventually trailed by one adult who may or may not have been related to any of them, asking to come in and interested to know what we were doing. I explained what I could, and offered each a snow pea pod. One wanted to know how to peel it, and another shied away completely. Of those who tried one, I got a bell curve of responses: The youngest boy didn’t like his and it ended up first on the ground, then in the compost when I pointed it out. ("Where are the worms?" he asked, quite sagaciously.) A freckled girl liked hers so much she came back after she’d scurried off to declare her affection. The rest were in the middle.

My two purposes in going over were to water the no-grass strip created by the installation of a water line from the street (today was my turn), and I accomplished that, albeit not without watering myself far more than I would have liked to in the process. I guess it takes some practice.

My other purpose was to trim all the weedy/grassy edges of the walkway — it was just bugging me; my push mower wouldn’t do the edges and the extension cord for my electric edger is just shy of the three blocks it would need to reach — and I got only maybe 30 percent of it completed.

Part of the reason was that I was using garden shears, the best arrow in my quiver of garden tools but still not very good. The far more formidable reasons was my son Joe, who didn’t get enough sleep last night and was in no mood to hang out.

I kept trying to alter his existence in ways that might suit him, but inside the little sunscreen/playhouse I brought for him or in the grass, he just wanted to cry. In the stroller or in the stroller being pushed in circles for motion’s sake, he just wanted to cry. 

He was fine as long as I was holding him, but I couldn’t hold and edge at the same time.

Radishes split from the rain

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I opened the garden at 5:50 last evening and soon left to go to collect produce donations at the farmers’ market.

In just my 20 minutes, several intrigued people came by, the adults usually more interested than the children.

When I returned at 15 before 7, Lisa and Bailey and daughter were there. We tried some of the radishes: The regular ones split from the rain like cherry tomatoes, but were good. Of the big ones, one was OK, but the biggest one was riddled with wire worms.

Tuesday when I was there for a moment in time, a man liked our garden but then didn’t think the snow fence was so attractive, but I said well, it was recycled and was practical.

Dick today at Johnnies told me that one day this week when he was there, an older woman, an experienced gardener, informed him the collards were ready and should be harvested now, lest they get old and tough.

 

Alone in the community garden

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Only in the most jocular way, I’m starting to question the dispatches of Oakes, who reports frequently on all the visitors he entertains in the garden.

I came by yesterday in the morning — I often glance in on my walks with infant Joe and dog Emma, to admire all "my" handiwork — and ended up staying for an hour, putting out doggie water and pulling out weeds, though I was surprised by how few there were, relative to the real estate.

Even though both the playground and the school playground were packed, not only with kids but with parents (an end-of-year thing, maybe?), I had not one visitor! Either he’s cooking the books, or he’s far more attractive than I am to those in the area as a potential host and guide. Yes, that must be it.

It’s a good thing I did get over there to do some work, because family responsibilities kept me from keeping my early evening plan to meet up for the regular midweek session. When I drove by on the way home to feed Joe, I saw only Lisa toiling away, though I understand others were there for portions of the late afternoon and evening.

“Pick those collards now,” she scolded (gently).

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While I was at the garden this morning, doing surgery on the soaker hose (2X more holes now), a handsome, boxy 5-ft-5 grandmother, maybe in her early 70s, came over with her 2-year-old grandkid (or was it great-grandkid?) to admire the garden.

We connected quickly. She pointed around the place, calling off all the veggies she had growing in her own garden. Then, hand out level with her shoulder, she said in a thick eastern European accent: “My tomatoes are much taller; they’re cherries; and they produce lots.” Then she smiled.

I thought, "This lady knows tomatoes," and told her that some of mine at home were still only 4 to 5 inches high.

Then the gentle, between-friends scold began. 

“Why haven’t you picked those yet?” she said, pointing to the collard greens. “Another week and those leaves will be hard. You don’t want that."

"You’ve got to pick them now," she said. "Boil them first, then fry them with a little olive oil. They will taste very good.”

“But do it now,” she repeated, poking the air before me with her finger. “Don’t let them get hard.”

I promised I’d pass her admonitions on to the crew tomorrow evening, when we get together for our mid-week shift.