Roots

I have found my calling. I know. Even though those words can be dangerous, I feel comfortable saying them. Everything in my life led to the moment tonight when Will moved bricks aside and took a knife sharpener to break up the soil beneath.

We played a game like Tetris or Jenga where, in what must have been an old patio, Will chose individual bricks to move. He did this because I told him to. He did this because in the corner where the bricks live is the space that gets the most heat. A Southwest facing corner. 

Maybe the bricks he chose came from intuition. We put sunflower seed, moringa, and pigeon pea into the hollowed out spaces.

“How far down do the roots go?” Will asked.

“Far,” I said. “But we’re just moving around the soil to give the seeds a better shot in the beginning.”

What I most love about going into a space and helping a person to find what he wants to do is the way the possibilities are endless. There is no perfect answer to “What should I plant?” And herein lies the beauty.

I mapped out the sixteen-foot wide yard and found that the opposite side of the brick is where we could put greens and herbs and flowers that get morning sun. And this space runs into the back where bamboo may take over. In the hot spot between the bricks, we will plant a couple of papaya. 

The air conditioning unit lives behind these bricks, atop a slab of concrete, likely the hottest place in the entire yard. In permaculture, there is the belief that anything that is being done should have multiple purposes. I didn’t tell Will this. I should have. Maybe after he told me he felt he was getting his money’s worth when I pulled out the tape measure.

Sometimes the universe provides. On my way to his house I opened up and asked the universe how I might best serve him. She answered by drawing my eye to a yard on Ursuline where two thirty-gallon pots sat beside the trash cans. I knew immediately that something could be done with them. I still had soil left in the truck from moving plants from Mystery and thought Will might want those pots. They were perfect for blocking the air conditioner. They will be perfect for tropical fruit trees in that space and can be moved inside should there be a freeze. And in those pots, we can drop flower seeds or plugs that I've already started.

This is where the business aspect becomes confusing for me, for I must consider all of the seeds that I have, freely harvested from what I have grown, and I must also consider what these seeds would cost were somebody to order them. Add my knowledge to the acclimation of what I have and those seeds are a pretty penny, but I have a hard time charging for them.

People say that when you love what you do it’s not work. I did not want to leave Will’s house. I wanted to gather cardboard and wood chips and go over the East facing edge. I wanted to put longevity spinach and Okinawa spinach in the big pots.

“What should we do next?” Will asked.

“That’s the beauty of working with the earth,” I said. “Everybody wants certainty. We want answers. We want concepts. What the earth gives us is a myriad of possibilities.”

I left without asking Will a very important question. And so, I will ask him next time we talk.

“Do you compost?”