"We Have An Idea"

Dennis Lange, partner at 5 Seasons Brewing Company, came by the community garden with the first deliveries of spent grain from the beermaking process the other day, and we dedicated a location for it, way off to the side of our acre or two of space. More is coming each week, and we'll be mixing in wood chips until the leaves fall. They have just begun to turn here in Atlanta, and we find ourselves looking up at our tree-bordered garden location at all the "carbon" we will soon have, and imagining closed loops such as these:






















We find ourselves looking everywhere, actually, and imagining every possibility. That flood damage? I'm bartering writing for design from sustainable landscaping designer, Lindsay Mann, for an integrated ecosystem design that mitigates our stormwater runoff and provides a learning opportunity about native plantings and ecologically-sound design.

When I showed up at the garden to meet Lindsey (a "friend" of mine on Facebook whom I had yet to meet in person!), I found her standing in the grassy wild beyond the tamed area within the garden fence, the earth tones of her outfit camouflaging her, her floppy hat hiding her face. She turned to wave and I asked her to turn back, to let me take this picture, that she looked so breathtakingly beautiful, so very right, there in that space, her sketchpad in hand. Like a young Beatrix Potter, sketching rabbits.






















Lindsey, a geomancy specialist, had goose bumps from this piece of earth. She told Angela and me that it had one of the most powerful energies she has experienced. I told her that's what we all have been saying, since Day 1 out here. That something else is going on here.

I came out the next day to thin seedlings in the food pantry beds, where lettuces and baby kales were stretching to join the other lettuces, tatsoi and mustard greens in producing enough to donate to the nearby food pantry. We had just harvested three days earlier, and already the beds were ready to be picked again, although I'll wait until Wednesday. Our first harvest this week had yielded enough to put family-sized salads in the hands of three families-in-need.



I felt good about this, teary with gratitude, actually, since it was less than a month since we planted these beds. However, when I went to deliver our "bounty," I walked in to the room where the families come to pick up food from the Atlanta Community Food Bank, to choose second-hand-clothes, and to get their other needs met and the room was already filled with about 70 families, all sitting on rows of chairs waiting their turns. Fathers. Mothers. Little, long-haired girls and wide-eyed boys with big, broad smiles. The food pantry is open Wednesdays from 3:30-5:30 and it was only about 3:10. There used to be a total of about 60 families that came each week, I've been told. The number has at least doubled this past year. And I only had three salads.

Yesterday, my friend, Janet, and I spread out the abundant seedlings in the food pantry beds, an attempt to maximize the space, to maximize the yield, to feed more families. Bob showed up, and we got to talking. Bob is the person who spearheaded the creation of this community garden through our county (our county and city are currently negotiating ownership of parks within our new city's borders, so this was no small feat. In fact, we had been told it would be impossible).

"I could only help three families the other day, Bob," I said. "There were 70 there. 70 hungry families. Even if these six beds produce abundantly, and every single gardener in this garden gives a share of his or her harvest every single week, we won't be able to grow enough to feed those people."

"So what do you want to do?" he asked, and then laughed, "Oh no, you have that twinkle in your eye. That's always trouble."

I saw my opening.

"An urban farm, Bob," I answered. "We need an urban farm so we grow enough to feed those families."

"An urban farm?" Bob asked, not incredulously as he would have a month ago. "What are you thinking?"

"I don't know," I answered. "A half acre, or a quarter acre, rows of crops, a scalable showcase, a pilot project, an example. Maybe something like Rashid's, but smaller, to start. I'll send you the video."

And then, I kid you not, at that exact moment, Robert pulled up. I have not seen Robert at the garden since opening day, August 23. Robert is on the newest city in the United States' very first City Council and is the one who stood with me in the dark one night in July, fireflies around us, and said, "I don't see why the City of Dunwoody can't issue a proclamation in support of a community garden here." You can see Robert in this short, cute little video, sounding the gong at our opening.

"What's goin' on?" Robert asked, passing through the gated garden, joining us under the trees, by the cistern.

"Robert, we have an idea . . ."