GroHappy

Celebrating the sun

To say that it has been unusual winter in the Northeast is an understatement and the first day of Spring was no different with temperatures in the mid 70s in Fairfield County and every chlorophyll-filled entity thinking it was May. In celebration of the season, we went for a nature walk at Ann’s Place and built sundials from trees and branches that were downed last year during our hurricane and Snotober.

The grounds were accommodating in beginning to show off their potential. A few of the 4,000 daffodils planted in the back started to unveil themselves though most were just awakening. The muscari was emerging along the path, its bunches of tiny grape-like purple blooms poking their spears though the soil appearing among the greening fescue grass.

As we walked the grounds everyone was amazed by how all the buds were swollen and ready to burst. “Here are a couple of things you want to avoid,” I pointed out. I then cut a sprout of Japanese barberry from a plant that had lodged itself in the rocks showing the class the tail tell orange innards as well as the spiky stems. “If you have this in your yard, you want to get rid of it. It may be pretty but it will take over,” I said and then pointed to the wetland area beyond the fence. It was filled with barberry, which was letting little else survive. Some skunk cabbages were making an attempt to show and flower, but they were hard to see under the blanket of greening barberry.

“Here is something else you want to avoid,” as I pointed to an attractive green floret. I attempted to pull it off but snapped off the stem. “This is not what you want to do when you try to get rid of garlic mustard. Pretty soon we will have to start weeding in earnest.”

As we walked around the garden, the sun started poking through the clouds. It was a good time to bring the group back to the front where I had set up an example of what we would be building that afternoon: a sundial.

“This is what all of you will be making today, a sundial. My wife, who is vastly more talented than me, made this one and it is accurate to our longitude and latitude.”

As some of my clients looked at me strangely (a familiar look) I explained. “It is guaranteed that nearly any sundial you purchase will be wrong as it need to be timed, so to speak, to the latitude and longitude where the sundial will reside. For people in the New York City area . . .” I then went on to describe the mathematics of sundials and how they work.  While the class was interested and attentive in how sundials worked it was clear they wanted to start building their own sundials.

Unlike other exercises we have had, building a sundial is much less free form as there are two important things you must consider. The first is transferring hour lines to the correct position on the dial face. The other is to position the gnomon, which casts the shadow on the dial, in the center of the dial so it lays directly above the line for high noon.

In keeping with the horticultural therapy theme, I cut the dials from a locust and black birch trees that fell on my property during the year. The gnomons were cut from Japanese red maple, sugar maple, black birch, and oak. I cut the disks as uniform as I could and then used my table saw to cut each gnomon so that it would lay on the dial at an angle of 41 degrees, which is the latitude of the NYC area. Given these materials, a series of instructions and templates, the group set off to work.

The usual casual chatter was deferred for quiet determination as each client focused on drawing their lines on the slab of their choice accurately. “Remember nothing is wrong until you commit a permanent marker to the wood and even then we can probably sand most anything off.”

Unlike other sessions, this one was filled with purpose and concentration. One of the clients became frustrated early as she was having a hard time working through the transfers of the sundial hour lines to her dial. “Nothing is wrong with what you are doing,” I assured her. “Just determine which direction you want your sundial to point toward and put down the template like this.” I demonstrated how to transfer the information and she became much calmer. A slight smile emerged.

“The fun part of this is how you personalize the sundial and what type of designs you want to consider. Those should be done free hand without transfer paper.”

As the session went on, everyone became more at ease with the task at hand and started to create different and unique designs (which I could not record as the battery on my camera died.) The chatter started slowly and then people were talking and sharing ideas as has been typical. When they were finished, each had a sundial that would tell time in their back yard. All were very happy with their accomplishment.

“I never would have thought about doing something like this,” said one. “But it turned out better than I ever could have imagined.”

When the clients finished their pieces, I sprayed them a few times with a quick drying lacquer to hold up against the elements. “You should consider putting a coat or two of spar varnish on these if you want them to last outside,” I suggested.

I then told them how to set their sundials at night, gave them a instruction sheet to help them remember and then sent them on their way. As I was cleaning up I noticed that the sun was still visible in the sky and my wife’s sundial had been left out still telling time.

The sweet smell of students

 

A new semester recently started at Green Chimneys and with that a new group of students. Coming back after a month’s absence (a two week vacation and two hurricanes) its time to get into the fall chores and get to learn about a new group of students. This fall’s group will be bittersweet, like the season, as I will only be working with them through Thanksgiving. After that I will be taking a break until the spring and then hopefully back with the kids.

But until then there is lots to do in the garden. Today should be spent taking down the tomato plants, which have given up the ghost to leaf spot and weather conditions that vacillated between desert and flood. One of my new charges, Ben, was happy to have gotten the job and wanted to be a good worker.

“I will be a good worker for you, Mr. Keller. That way I can earn my money.”

So we started slow, cutting the stalks off the diseased plants. I showed Ben two different examples of tomatoes: one that had a healthy vine and the other with one that was diseased. At first he couldn’t articulate the differences but a bit of prodding got him on the right track.

My next student, Bill, was more observant but he told me he had never eaten a tomato before. “Bill you must have eaten tomatoes before in some form. Do you like Italian food?”

“I love spaghetti,” he replied. “Well tomatoes are often used in the sauce,” I said. I then picked up a basil leaf that we plant in between the tomato plants and rubbed the basil under his nose. “Do you know this smell?”

“I think so but I don’t know from where,” he said. “How about pizza?” I then told him to rub the basil under his nose and eat a cherry tomato at the same time. He looked at me strangely but then ate the fruit. He started to smile and agreed that it tasted like pizza and the tomatoes were really good. (I felt as if I was having a “Green Eggs and Ham,” moment with him.") I told Bill that he could eat as many of the cherry tomatoes that he wanted to. With that incentive he started to prune with greater urgency, taking a tomato every time he cut off a stalk and placed it into a garbage bag (we throw out all diseased plants rather than put them into the compost heap.)

My next student was off at a special meeting so I walked back to the garden. When I got there a pack of pre-schoolers were walking around with their teachers looking at the garden. I asked them if they would like to do something special and they all said yes.

I walked them around one of the corners of the herb garden by our large patch of wooly thyme. I then told them to take both of their hands, rub the thyme and then smell their fingers. They first couldn’t get enough of rubbing as the soft, wool-like plant tickled their fingers. Then they smelled their fingers and started to giggle.

Next to the wooly thyme is our mint patch so I broke off a stem and gave a leaf to each child and told them to smell it. “It smells like gum,” said one. “Yeah, can we eat it?” asked another.

I told them that they could and then I broke off a small branch and started to tickle each of their noses. “Tickle my nose again!” insisted a small, bespeckled girl.  I have never had such a receptive audience. I then showed them sunflowers, one that was pollinated and the other that was not, and explained how seeds were make. I cut open each flower showing them the difference between the two.

“You see each of these holes? Each used to hold a seed as was a little bed. Each seed could grow into a plant that was this tall, “ I said pointing as some of our sunflowers that were 10 feet high. The children were amazed that such a tiny seed could grow into a much larger plant. I gave each child a seed and told them to put it into the ground next spring. Each held out a tiny hand wanting a seed. I placed one in each hand and hoped that it was not the only seed that would bear fruit in the future.

A teddy becomes a grizzly

One of the nicest (and sometimes the most frustrating) things about gardening is the unexpected. In the garden, one of the more pleasant experiences that can manifest itself is an opportunistic crop or plant. For instance, this year an ornamental squash started in my bed where I planted Swiss chard in the spring. So far it has delivered 15 squash with at least another 6 on the way in the next few days. At Green Chimneys this year our opportunistic plant is not squash but sunflowers.

Three years ago we planted three different types of sunflowers: Moulin Rogue (all red), Gigantuous (big and yellow) and Ring of Fire (red in the center, yellow on the edges.) But since then we have not planted a single sunflower but we keep getting more and more sunflowers in the garden with each year. This year they were as thick as chickweed and we needed to pull out a lot more than we would have liked to.

But the interesting thing about these sunflowers is that only a few bear any resemblance to their elderly relatives. We have many different shades and configurations of red and yellow sunflowers in the garden because they have been cross-pollinated with a different cultivars for three years running. So a wild variety of flowers has bloomed with different heights, colors and flower configurations.

We have a couple of sunflowers in the garden that are over 12 feet high with a single defiant spike daring the squirrels to climb and eat (like the one to the right). Others have formed big clumps with small, but tall flowers.

But perhaps the strangest was the mutant Teddy Bear sunflower that appeared a few weeks ago. At the top of one of the large clumps, about 8 feet in the air was a Teddy Bear sunflower blossom about the size of a small seedless watermelon.  Teddy Bear sunflowers grow to a maximum height of two feet, with a smallish flower. This was not your typical teddy bear: it’s a grizzly.

“This must have cross pollinated with a Teddy Bear that was planted in the barrels down by the administration building [about a half mile away],” said Tracy. “It’s pretty cool looking.” Tracy and I agreed to try and save the seed of this big flower so that we could see what its offspring will look like next year.

 

The old bamboo

At Green Chimneys I have a pretty packed day: eight sessions with 11 students between 9 am and 3 pm once a week. Though Tracy thought I was mad to agree to such a schedule, I had a simple reason: I rarely ever get to deliver all the sessions. Between absences, doctor appointments, special events, etc. someone is always dropping out.

Last week I found myself with some time on my hands and I didn’t feel like weeding (I had spent the previous day doing that in my garden.) Next to the barn there was a pile of bamboo that Tracy had ordered to build some trellises for squash and frames to net the corn. A few scraps were on the side. I picked a scrap up and for some reason wondered if I could build a flute.

So I took out my Swiss Army knife and started the process. I opened the saw and cut off an end so that the stick was about a foot long with one end open and the other end plugged. I brushed off the end against the ground and opened up an awl that was on the knife. I picked a random spot near the plugged end of the bamboo and started to apply pressure. By turning the awl back and forth, a hole started to form. Soon I had a hole that was large enough to blow across.

I put on my best flautist face and blew. Nothing. Perhaps a few fingering holes would help. After I bore in a few holes I took another shot at it. Nothing. As I had no idea what I was doing, I wasn’t too bothered. I then looked up.

One of the boys in Tracy’s class had quietly walked over to me and was staring at me and my “flute.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m attempting to make a flute.”

“Does it work?”

“Let’s see.”

I then gave the flute my biggest blow and best sour-lemon face. Out of the end a loud, ear-splitting shrill noise emerged. I had built a flute. I then plugged the far end with my finger and a different sound emerged.

“That is so cool,” said Ted. “Can I make one?”

By that time the other boys in Tracy’s class had defected over to my patch of the garden and were also interested. “How about me? “And me,” said two other boys. I looked over to Tracy and she shrugged her shoulders. So I told the boys we could all make a flute but we would have to do it one at a time as I had only a single knife. I then told them to select a piece of bamboo.

“But think about what you want because the larger the piece of bamboo you choose, the lower the sound will be for the flute you make.”

One student asked, “Why is that?” So I then started to talk to them about the physics of sound and why some noises have a high pitch while others do not. I worked with each of them to build a flute while I explained the principle of how a flute worked. They were careful as I showed them how to use a knife and were quiet and patient as we built different flutes. By the end of class everyone had a flute in hand and smile on their face. No one cared that the sound was that good, but they were all able to get a tweet out of their homemade flutes.

After they left I apologized to Tracy for Shanghaiing her class. “Oh no. What you did was great. You were teaching them to be careful. Giving them math lessons as well as music. It was great. Anyway there was lots of male bonding going on and I can’t compete with that. So why try?”

I thanked Tracy for her understanding and looked at the pile of bamboo next to the table. I picked out a nice piece for myself and thought I would have another go at it during the week. Perhaps I will be able to make something that humans, rather than dogs can hear.

Fungus among us

While July was hot and dry, June was not and set the seeds (or spores) of one of our current activities at Green Chimneys: trimming diseased branches and leaves off the tomato plants. Tomatoes are one of the favored fruits of summer as there is nothing quite so tasty as a fresh tomato that has ripened on the vine. Unfortunately, for the last three years we have had a constant battle with Septoria leaf spot and every year I have endeavored with my charges to control the problem.

A few weeks ago I told a group of young boys that we would be cutting the leaves off the tomato plants. Initially they seemed uninterested until I asked them if they liked salsa.

“Yeah! That’s one of the best things about the summer garden. Will we be getting salsa soon?” said Bob.

“Well I hope so,” I replied. “But only if all of these green tomatoes are able to turn red. And they won’t turn red unless the tomato plant that is holding them lives for at least a month more.”

I then showed them a diseased leaf. It was brown on the edges and had little dots all over.

“This leaf is infected with a fungus that will kill the tomato plant unless we stop it. Look at some of the wilted leafs at the bottom of that tomato plant,” I said pointed downward.

They all looked and saw a bunch of desiccated brown leafs hanging off the metal cage. There were also small shriveled branches hanging off the bottom of the plant.

“Does that look healthy?” I asked. They all shook their heads no.

So I told them that we needed to cut off all the sickly looking branches as well as collect the dead leaves on the ground and instead of putting them into the compost heap, we needed to throw them out. When I asked them why did we need to do that Bill spoke up,” Because if you put them in with the compost you will just be planting them again next year.” Smart kid.

I gave each of them a set of pruners and they quickly set off to do the work. I said that our goal was to finish a single row of tomatoes and they set off quickly to do their job. Unlike other weeding exercises, this time the boys worked quickly and carefully. Perhaps the prospect of not getting salsa was motivating them to work hard; perhaps my promise of carrots and early tomatoes if they did a good job was a more immediate incentive.

In their enthusiasm a few healthy branches were cut, but as they were not bearing any fruit, I told them that it didn’t really matter that they were cut. After each plant was tended to, I wiped down each of their tools with alcohol to remove any spores that lingered on the blades. After 30 minutes of work, the row was nearly done.

“Gentlemen you have done a great job and probably saved this row so we will be able to make salsa in a month or so. Give yourselves a pat on the back,” I said. “Look at the difference.”  For the few plants that had not been trimmed, the dead, shrunken leafs were a bleak counterpart to the thinned out albeit airy bottoms of the plants that had been cut. The boys seemed pleased.

“OK now it is time to shop. Carrots first or tomatoes?” The boys had big smiles on their faces and decided to go for the tomatoes first.  

Going home to New Jersey

Working at Green Chimneys is full of paradoxes. One of the biggest ones that I don’t understand is the rationale behind the rule that staff are not allowed to discuss the entire life cycle of animals, particularly when they die. On a farm, life and death is common. Animals get sick and die, chickens that lose the ability to lay eggs productively become tomorrow’s dinner, cows and pigs once they reach a certain age or weight are taken off to slaughter. 

But such realities are not to be reflected in our teachings. I once made the mistake in discussing with a GC staff member a scene in the Michael Moore movie, “Roger & Me,” where a poor resident of Flint, MI, was selling rabbits for “Pets or Meat.” A child nearby overheard our discussion and went into a massive crying fit. We eventually calmed down the child and I felt guilty about upsetting the boy. While many of the animals we have at Green Chimneys are viewed as pets and part of therapy, the other more final use is the true reason for the existence of most farms.

After some reflection, I started to feel sorry for all the children as they were being shielded from the reality of the human use of animals for food. After all its not tofu nuggets, mushroom burgers and veggyloaf that gets fed to the children in the cafeteria. And everyone loves cheese. Green Chimneys is far from a meat-free zone. Often, the more meat, the better.

The absurdity of this was revisited last week as I was having lunch with some colleagues. “”We don’t have room for all of them in the barn,” said one farm worker.

“I’m not sure what we will do with the carcass,” said another.

I quickly discovered that something killed one of the sheep the prior evening. There were no visible footprints or scat but the consensus was either a large dog or coyote of which there are many in the area, killed the sheep. Now that this predator knows that there are easy pickings, we needed to protect the flock. So instead of leaving them out in the fields, they will be brought in every evening to be protected.

“So how did the kids take it?” I asked.  I was given a sharp look and told that the children never will know.

“We tell them that it [the sheep] went home to a farm in New Jersey,”  said one of the farm hands. “That’s our standard line.”

“But the kids are getting smart,” said another. “They have figured out that anytime someone ‘goes home to New Jersey’ it means that they have died.”

This was really weird. Images of Jimmy Hoffa next to some dead ungulates sprang to mind. “OK horsey, if you won’t talk, it’s a concrete feed bag for you.”

But the biggest missed opportunity was our inability to create a positive and impactful lesson from this nasty event. Instead we are having to hide everything.

As I left the cafeteria, I started to think of Charlton Heston and Edger G. Robinson in the movie “Soylent Green.”  It’s a old science-fiction movie about a 2022 Earth that is overpopulated and barely able to feed itself. Soylent Green is one of the main food stuffs of the era and purportedly is made from plankton. Robinson, tired of life leaves a note for Heston stating that he is “going home,” a euphemism for assisted suicide.  Heston follows the body of his old friend through a processing sequence discovering the dark secret that “Soylent Green is people!”

I felt like following that train of thought by screaming, “Mutton is sheep!.” But I didn’t and went back to the garden less worried about the mixed message we send out to our children and more worried about covering up some tender vegetable seedlings as we were expecting a very cold evening.

Back to school

I haven't written much about working with students in a while because I haven't been working with students for a while. A combination of wicked weather and personal/business conflicts conspired to stop my involvement in Green Chimneys for months. But I'm now back in the saddle (or compost) with a half dozen students and the ability to start working the soil. We have had a nearly perfect melt in the northeast with almost Goldilocks conditions (with the exception of last weekend where we got nearly 5 inches of rain in a single day.) We have had a steady and slow melt since mid February so that while the soil is a bit saturated it can be walked on rather than act as a quicksand-like quagmire that will swallow a boot with a quick muddy gulp.

Last Thursday was a rainy day with more to come but I am hopeful that we will be able to plant radishes and peas in the garden later this week. I went out to the Children's Garden a few days ago and saw that  the cauliflower, mustard greens and some of the lettuce is coming back from a rough winter. The carrots are intact, nice and sweet ready for harvest. In my garden for the hungry a few kale seeds have sprouted sending up little baby leaves that can be harvested in a month or so.

The garden at this time of year is a bit mysterious as you will soon find out how well you dealt with the weeds of the past year: if you did a good job in the fall your rows will be fallow and empty. Not so well, your rows will be filled with more weeds than you care to count. Some plants, like dill or fennel, go from desired herb to invasive weed as their seed pods and roots are very generous spreading their progeny. 

The children are excited but wary of going out to the garden. It was a raw rainy day; not the best time to be rejoicing in nature. So we are doing some busy work as well as planning our garden. A simple review of seed catalogs open their eyes to the potential of months to come and the different flowers that could come their way. Bill spent over 15 minutes carefully examining a Parks Seed catalog amazed at the different flowers and vegetables he found. "I didn't think peas had so many pretty flowers," he commented.

Such references help us define the season and the jobs to come. It is hard to imagine that just a week ago the only grass that could be seen was covered with snow mold and monuments of dirty snow that distinguished each corner. But now it is time to get ready.

One of my students categorizes all the seed we have received for the season. Another starts a tray of spring flowers. Another re-pots a few overgrown aloe plants. Another whittles a stick. My students are coming out of their dormancy and like the garden almost ready to burst into growth.

The existential pleasures of the unfamiliar

One of the things most gratifying in working with children is introducing them to familiar friends that they have never seen or experienced. That has been the case this year at Green Chimneys where we got rid of our loud, noisy and dangerous gas mower replacing it with a Scotts 16-inch reel model. Tracy was a bit dubious in the beginning when I suggested the switch as I predicted that the children would gladly take over our mowing chore in a Tom Sawyer-like way. After we finally got the mower in the mid summer, I found out how correct I was.

"My God. That is all they want to do," said Tracy after the mower was assembled and put to use. "The lawn gets mowed two or three times a day now." It doesn't really matter that the kids don't mow in a straight line or follow a regimented pattern. When you mow an area a few times a day, everything will get cut eventually.

I was able to extend this lesson to one of my kids, Paul, recently. Paul is an unusual child in that he hunts with his father and knows how to drive his uncle's John Deere tractor; he also mows lawn, shovels snow and rakes leaves for extra money. Reminds me of the sorts of things I did as a kid (save hunting.)

"Have you ever used a mower like this before," I asked. "No," he replied. "This looks pretty old-fashioned."

"Well yeah, but do you think you are strong and clever enough to handle it?"

He gave me a knowing smile and then grabbed the handle of the mower.

Paul gave it an initial push and seemed a little shocked at the ease by which it moved along the ground sending up a tiny wave of grass clippings that landed by his feet. He walked to the end of a row and then turned around to come back. He had a big smile on his face. "This is a lot of work, but it's a lot of fun too."

"If you want to do a really good job, you need to watch your line and overlap where the blades cut so you don't miss any parts." I then showed him how to navigate a turn so that you don't have a line of unshorn grass. He nodded and took over and started to concentrate. As he walked up and down the grassy area in the garden his eye was trained on the wheel and the line of grass he was trying to align it toward. He had a look of determination as he carefully attempted to guide the mower so that he did not waste any amount of his cut.

Paul soon fell into a groove and was wearing a big dopey smile on his face. I just sat on an old bucket watching him mow the lawn with the only sound in the background being a few twittering birds and the rhythmic swish of the reels cutting the remaining grass.

Getting and giving back

For a variety of reasons, I wasn’t able to spend that much time this summer at Green Chimneys so it’s been good to return on a regular basis and work with a new crop of children. Of my old charges, only one is a repeat, which is bittersweet as I miss my former students while I am happy to meet new ones. Now the challenge is to discover how I can best work with each and bring out their potential.

But before I get too involved with the new group I recently went on a field trip with many of the old to deliver harvested vegetables to the Brewster Putnam Community Action Program (CAP), which distributes food to those in need within Putnam County, N.Y. As I have written about previously, we have been delivering food to this facility for over two years and we believed it was high time that the children were able to see where the fruits of their labors wound up.

It was a good time to gather the children as we needed to clean up the row for the hungry (garlic needs to be planted soon) as it would be moved to a new location in the garden. We first collected all the tomatoes that were on the vines, regardless of ripeness. We only had four plants but were able to glean 25 pounds of fruit. We pulled a bunch of basil plants around the tomatoes for good measure and placed them in a bucket. When one child wondered why we were pulling these plants I rubbed a leaf on her nose. At first she was taken back, but quickly smiled and loved the smell.

We next cut a flat of Swiss chard and added that to a flat of leeks that were pulled the day before. Tracy let me take some of the extra garlic we had harvested and for good measure we cut parsley that was at the end of the row and threw in a couple of squashes. We had over 60 pounds of food to deliver.

We had an uneventful ride but once we got to the food pantry, the children were all excited about helping. “I want to hand out all the vegetables we harvested,” said Ben.

We were greeted by Brewster CAP's Volunteer Coordinator, Mary Bodor, who organized our crew into organizing and packing everything we brought in. “Everything needs to be put in a bag,” she said. “Why don’t we start with the tomatoes?” So all the children started to grab five or six tomatoes to place in a bag that would be tied and placed on the table. We did the same with the Swiss chard as well as parsley. The garlic was already in braids.

“We get all the food here from supermarkets like Trader Joe’s as well as from the government for distribution,” said Mary. “But we don’t have much fresh food.” The children appeared to be taken aback at not only how tightly everything was packed and organized but by the type of food and goods that were available. Two of the refrigerators were stuffed with sheet cakes and pies that had been donated; boxes of disposable diapers rested nearby.

Most of the fresh food, unlike what we provided, was produce or fruits that had passed their prime. Pears with spots or apples with bruises were ok; moldy grapes were not. We were hoping that today’s recipients would enjoy our offerings. They were but a small part, however, of a shopping bag of staples that are given on a monthly basis to CAP’s clients as a supplement. The children enjoyed being told what to gather and putting together bags of food for the people who came to the center. They felt helpful.

On the way back to Green Chimneys I asked the children what they had learned. One child said it was good to be able to help people. Another said, “I was great to help so many poor people in such a poor area.”  I responded, “Why do you think they are poor?”

It was easy to see how he came to this assumption. The offices were simply furnished and cramped; the clients were wearing old jeans and T-shirts. “It’s not just poor people who need places like this. Many people today are down on their luck without jobs and need a little help,” I said. “We are lucky at Green Chimneys as there is plenty of food and people who take care of you.” The children nodded. Another child added, “It’s good to give people food so they won’t be hungry.” I thought that was the best statement of the day.

(The photographs in this blog were taken by Jodi Doff at Green Chimneys.)

Changes in attitude and spider homes

I was looking forward to picking up Cheryl a few days ago to work in the Children’s Garden at Green Chimneys. There was much to do as the broccoli had started to bolt and the spinach was perfect for harvest. When I picked her up, however, something wasn’t right. Cheryl was looking at one of the classroom computers intently and when told that it was time for her job replied, “I don’t want to go! I hate being in the garden.” Oh boy.

Upon walking with Cheryl to the garden I asked her how her week had gone and how she feels. “It has been horrible and things suck,” was the reply she made as she choked back a few tears. “Is there anything you want to do in the garden?,” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Would you like to sit down and talk or walk?”

“No.”

A similar problem occurred with Cheryl a month ago and I decided to take her back to class rather than risk her having a breakdown in the garden. Unfortunately that decision may not have been the best as her return turned into a power struggle, which just made her more upset and agitated. I decided to take a different tack.

“Today Cheryl we will be harvesting spinach and broccoli. Would you like to see the peas we planted last month before we begin?”

“No.”

So we walked to the barn to get kneeling pads and pruning shears. With few words exchanged we sat down in front of the broccoli bed and I showed her how to harvest it using pruners. Cheryl nodded in understanding and worked quietly with a far away look on her face as she cut the heads and placed them in a bin. I didn’t try any conversation as I worked next to her weeding an adjacent patch. She remained emotionless as she worked though it appears that she was beginning to relax. Within five minutes her attitude started to change visibly. Her facial expressions softened and she noticed a butterfly that floated nearby.

In another five minutes she became more animated and content; by the end of the harvest, she was smiling and working intently. “I’m done,” she said with pride in her voice.

“No you aren’t,” I replied. “You missed one.”

In the middle of the broccoli patch was a tiny, uncut floret. I snipped it with my shears and gave it to her. "This is your reward. Try it.”

As she bit into it her eyes went wide and she said,” That’s awesome! It’s so delicious!” Cheryl had never had fresh broccoli before.

I smiled and asked her to pick up our harvest so we could weigh it in. As we walked toward where the scale was hanging I reflected upon how just being in the garden had changed Cheryl’s view. She went from a near meltdown to being extremely happy.

As we weighed the broccoli I grabbed a group of heads and stuck them in her face. The fresh smell of the cut heads was powerful and slightly sweet. Cheryl loved the smell and was amazed. “I never smelled anything like that,” she said.

“So what does it smell like?” I asked.

She thought about it for a while and replied that she didn’t know.

“It smells like broccoli, you silly goose,” I said. She laughed and smiled.

She had better attention and focus as we cut the spinach. She ate a leaf and was also amazed by the freshness and the taste. But mostly she was shocked by their size.” These are humungous,” she said. We then had a contest as to whom could find the most humungous spinach leaf. She won but not before she accidently ripped a large leaf. Cheryl wanted to try to fix it using scotch tape but I told her that most people would not like it as part of their dinner. “They could always take it off. It would look pretty.”

As we were finishing I noticed that there was a lone head of romaine lettuce that hadn’t been cut from the last time we were in the garden due to the fact that a large brown spider had taken up residence inside. “Do you think the spider is still there,” asked Cheryl remembering why we had left it. I pulled up a bunch of leaves and couldn’t see anything so we clipped it and added it to our pile. For the morning, we had harvested nearly 10 pounds of food.

As it turned out I had not been that good an inspector and as I was carrying the tote filled with produce, I noticed that our brown spider was climbing out of the cut lettuce carrying a large fluffy white ball. “What’s that?” asked Cheryl.

“That is the spider’s egg nest. She is getting ready to have babies.”

Because the spider was a mother, Cheryl was not as fast to ask me to kill it as is often the case when we come across spiders. So I placed the spider on a fence post and continued on our way.

“Cheryl, have you ever read the story ‘Charlotte’s Web’?”

“Yes it is one of my favorites.”

“Mine too,” I replied as we spent the remainder of our time talking about spiders, rats, barns and humongous spinach leaves.