After the Baroque recital last night (my parallel life in music…), I drove past the Center on my way home. I wanted to see the solar holiday lights that my community garden friends , Sarah and Diane, donated to the Center garden (they work just up the street at the public library, so they know a lot of the homeless neighbors who come to the Center).
The lights work great, and they are totally solar, off the grid (Cleo says somebody will rip them off, but let’s hope not). We wrapped them around old tomato cages (no need for them right now), and sure enough they transform into little Christmas trees/Hannukah bushes. They were set up to blink frantically, so I reset them for continuous light. Their colors transform our inner courtyard into a holiday scene, though the only way the homeless can see is from a distance, since the Center is locked up at night. Many folks are huddling along the wall just outside our gate, literally there is no place for them to go.
I snapped some pics with my handy digital camera, including one of Jesus watching (also notice that swiss chard we threw in to the bed, thriving…the variety is ‘Oriole’, which I tested for OG this past year). Outside the gate, with the city humming with distant sirens and helicopters, and the wheezing of far-off traffic on the highway, I took a last photo of the prayer wheel with the lighted banks rising up beyond.
As I got into my van, N. appeared out of the darkness. He’s a friend, hangs out now with another neighbor who helps me in the garden. Older guy, serious, lined face. He wanted to say hi, and (the usual) hit me up for a couple bucks if he could, and talk:
“I been sitting in the bushes, then I see you come up, and I don’t know who it is. You know, some white guy, probably wants rock or dope. Then he starts looking at our flowers, and I get, you know, and then I see it’s you…”
After a little more of this banter, a cloud crossed his face, and he said, “It’s warm tonight, reminds me of when my granddaughter got killed. Murdered up in New York. And my daughter got murdered, and raped.” His words came o
ut hard, like he was clearing his throat. His face and eyes were fixed, his expression empty.
“I try to forgive the one who did it, you know. I couldn’t at first, I couldn’t let his family come to the funeral. But I keep praying to Jesus.” His face softened, just a little. “So, Jesus forgives me, and I forgive them. But I can’t forgive myself, but I have to do that, too. I can talk to Megan about this, and Jason. Ashley. I have to forgive.”
“You know, I get a check. But it’s gone. I mean…” His eyes sparkled, like a child eyeing candy…”When I can get me a little rock, well…and I like my beer. Mostly it’s just beer, not like these people here.”
While we were talking, 5 minutes maybe, dozens of people passed by, a woman dressed oddly like Lovely Rita of Sgt. Pepper, trolling for a John maybe, or out for a stroll I don’t understand, and gaggles of men in twos and threes, moving fast and furtively. The ones I know mutter things like “Oh, gardenman, hey…”, the ones I don’t know look away or drill into me with furious eyes.
Without warning, N. pulled up his shirt, all of a sudden.
“See, I almost died. Got stabbed with a knife, right by the heart.” A jagged scar rips across his thin chest. “The blade broke off. And I’m positive. HIV, AIDS, you know. Been 6 years. So, I’ve got to take my meds, it gets confusing, man.”
“Now, why don’t you guys send somebody down with me, to pick up my check? I get that check, and it’s gone. I need help. I told Megan about the rock, and she says “Shit, man, I hate that stuff!” She yelled. I really like her. She’d help me, if she could – but it is up to me.”
As I drove away, N. headed back into the bushes. He wants to work in the garden on some projects, maybe work with HHH. Got to find something in the garden, something he might fall in love with and feel good about. Some way he can set his burdens down, just a little while.
On Mike Collin’s local NPR talk show yesterday, Charlotte Talks, there was a friendly fellow going on about his new business, helping people get “instant organic gardens”. Americans! We are addicted to those instant answers, aren’t we? Just sign the contract and add water, just buy some rock – problems solved.
I need to find some sage and make a prayer bundle, and hang it beside the medicine wheel for N, and all of us.
Urban Ministry Community Garden Blog 