AfricanKelli

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Apparently my newest Calculated Act of Kindness is to plant gardens an do yard work for friends. Even new friends, and people I barely know. When gardening with a friend the other day, I asked about his neighbor’s yard. It is such a cute neighborhood but this house… Well. It stood out for the wrong reasons. Come to find out he is a vet suffering from PTSD. Needless to say, weeds aren’t his priority. Apparently, leaving his house hasn’t been such a priority for the last few years.

There was a woman who lived across the street from my childhood home named Karen. She lived alone and would always buy Girl Scout cookies when I came around. Otherwise, we’d wave hello but had very little other interaction with her. But we could tell, even as kids, that her existence was lonely. And because we grew up under the Donley regime, yard work was a regular occurrence. My parents had us outside picking up leaves and doing other odd work in the yard a lot. If we got in trouble, we knew what the punishment would be — yard work.

(I know. Poor little suburban white kids who had to work in their YARD. Who got to dip in their POOL when things got too rough. BOO FREAKING HOO. Don’t send the email, haters. I know. I’m spoiled.)

But I’ll never forget the look on my mom’s face when my brother and I came in one summer day after having picked the weeds out of Karen’s yard. Without being asked. It was like a Christmas miracle in July. Her little heathens had voluntarily done yard work. What we knew as kids, but couldn’t quite yet express, was that Karen needed a break. What we’d realize as adults was that she was suffering from MS and couldn’t manage another task. Soon enough, she’d greet us with a head nod, her hands holding the cuffs on her leg braces.

It was such a simple thing, but it made Karen cry. And it made me want to do it again.

I’m not sure that picking someone’s weeds is the most patriotic way to spend Memorial Day weekend, but it is on the list. (I’m obviously growing increasingly antsy for my own yard. So close. So close.) And in the meantime, Dana in Golden has a planted vegetable box. Because I couldn’t bring myself to let it remain fallow. Plus, this is the type of kindness I believe in. See something that needs done? Do it. Help your neighbor. Be kind. And if you barely know them? Well, you either made a new friend or you didn’t. Either way you spend the afternoon outside in the sun with your hands in the dirt doing good.

(Also — how incredible is the greenhouse she and her father built out of recycled materials from the Habitat for Humanity Restore? Holy Moses. Awesome.)

Happy Memorial Day, friends.

~K

When my friend BJ mentioned he wanted help “landscaping” the front yard of his new house, I did what I typically do: volunteer, come over prepared after having enjoyed a gallon of coffee, haul him to the local garden shop with far too many ideas and jump up and down on occasion during the day at our progress.

I could never be a hipster. I’m far too willing to show my excitement and happiness at the little things.

We started with two dirt patches filled with errant grass and weeds and a dusty porch. And one happy dog — Chaco — to watch us work.

We finished with two dirt patches covered with black plastic — to cook off those weeds. And a porch decorated with baskets of hanging flowers, a potted poppy and clean chairs. A bit of weeding. A bit of sweeping. And now, a bit of waiting as the plastic and the sun do their thing. In a few weeks we’ll put down mulch, plant some native grasses and a tree and call it a job well done.

With any luck, we’ll come close to the glory that is his next door neighbor’s yard. Not only is her porch swing adorable, but she’s let friends come in to garden portions of her yard. It is a mini-community garden with boxes marked off and the whole enchilada. Amazing creativity, this community. I absolutely love the spirit of sustainability and sharing.

I convinced BJ to approach her and see if anyone else would like the two patches of earth he owns down by the street. The ones in front of her home are being gardened by some volunteer. It would be so much sweeter to see this space going to use for food. He agreed.

*UPDATED: Rosie sent me this link and if it isn’t the same front yard! Bravo to this woman, who’s turned her yard into a CSA.

Of course, we celebrated our hour of labor with two hours of happy at a local brewery.

Colorado loves their breweries. (I could be a hipster about beer. Pretty to photograph, but otherwise? Meh.)

~K

This is the very first orange produced at the Asbury Community Garden. I hope it is the first of thousands that will grow to feed hungry folk in central Phoenix and elsewhere. I am so very, very pleased this tiny community project now has 75 trees, with 9 more on their way in January. Just think — with 80 or so trees surviving, producing 1,000 pounds of fruit a piece each year on irrigation — we will be swimming in citrus in a few years.

This project speaks to my senses; we are using our resources smarter by feeding trees instead of grass. In turn, we’ll use land otherwise empty to grow crops for the hungry.

Speaking of great projects, Jessica’s work with the poor in Brazil continues to flourish. The Brazilian Babies project is posted. Thank you so very much to those who participated! The photos of those sweet girls with their new dolls — signs they are loved from afar. Ack! Sometimes I get a bit teary with the great things happening in the world.

If you don’t let the nuclear/sudan/northkorea/teabag craziness consume you? There are community gardens and Brazilian babies to celebrate. I vote we focus on this instead.

~K

Precisely, it now grows tomatoes. In November.

Say it with me: booyah!

~K

P.S. If you need a little Monday morning pick-me-up, treat yourself to some Andrew Bird. Whistling awesomeness.

This little house I have in Tempe feels like home. It didn’t for many years. Although I’ve been here for nearly 8, it’s only been in the last few that I put love into where I was living. It was always clean. I always had dinner parties and an orphaned roommate living in the guest room. Thankfully, there has always been plenty to eat, enough blankets to stay warm, a sturdy roof, and ice old air conditioning for the long summer nights.

I never thought I’d be here as long as I have. I was dating a man I intended to marry and thought this would be a convenient nest egg — a real estate dowry I could bring into the relationship. Close enough to the university to always find renters, I thought I was so cleverly planning my future.

Life (again, thankfully) had other plans. While neighbors have come and gone — many having purchased at the top and watched their own tiny nest eggs disappear like so many in the United States — I’ve looked elsewhere but always returned to the trusty 85282. My home is just bigger than a shoebox by Arizona standards. In a sea of giant stucco homes with stories and walk-in closets and four car garages, I have a covered parking space, 900 square feet and a community swimming pool

My home by big city and developing world standards is huge. And perfect. And more than enough. Sadly, it took me far too long to realize the same. You’d think eating dozens of meals in homes with dirt floors and long drops, I’d be thrilled to come home. Looking back, the pivotal moment of growth when I saw my house as a home came when I planted a garden.

Planting a garden is a sign of hope. You are confident you’ll be around to see it come to harvest. You invite conversation from countless neighbors and salespeople who ask a dozen questions. “What is it?” “When will it be ready?” And often more sheepishly, “Can I have a couple?”

(The answer to that last question is always yes. I plant with the rule of thirds. One third for me, one for the bugs to much away and the last third for hungry friends, neighbors and when possible — the food bank.)

Two weeks ago I planted an experiment — tomatoes in October. With the climates changing, I’ve heard rumors of growing tomatoes year-round in the desert. I companion planted with basil, peppers, lettuce, collards and cilantro. If I remember to cover them on “freeze” nights, I should have another bumper harvest in January. I’m planting this garden with hope that my next tomatoes will be in the earth after Mother’s Day — the rule in the high plains of Colorado. I’ve got big dreams of an acre plot with a white picket fence, a small house, a huge garden, a shed for the chickens, a dog door for the mutts and a welcome sign hung above the front gate. Arizona will always be home. With a bit of luck, I’ll create the same in Colorado. It’s a leap, but I intend to split my time between the two, writing, working with family, and watching my friends’ children grow in both places. I hope to take an annual trip to Africa too. Why not?

Once I got the idea I could do this, to took off like a kudzu vine. An African desert southwest kudzu vine.

~K