Sharing doesn't just help others, it can help you, which you're not supposed to care about if you're a good sharer, but I can't help myself.
Let me tell you about some garlic.
My beloved Spanish Roja arrived, years ago, in the form of one bulb from Territorial Seed Co. I planted it in October, was delighted by its early vigorous green spears in January, and moved by its spicy dirt smell when I harvested it in August.
The cloves from the largest couple of bulbs from that year went back into the soil a few months later, and the following year, I had a larger crop, of larger bulbs.
How exciting! This has gone on for years now, with each subsequent generation bringing consistently large, robust, delicious, bulbs.
Just when I thought I had really gotten the hang of this garlic-growing thing, I suddenly lost this year's crop to some disease.
My internet-based diagnosis is white rot. This saddened me, not just because I would miss eating Spanish Roja, but because I found myself garlickless, with nothing to plant this October. I guess I could buy a new variety, maybe two. The shopper in me can totally roll with this tragedy, but the gritty survivalist cheapskate in me gets cranky at the thought of losing my line; my fine giant friend who could wondrously reincarnate, better than ever, year after year.
It felt like we had such a good thing going. But hang in there, because this story has a happy ending. It takes place here, in what I refer to as "Vecino* Garden."
*Vecino is how you say "neighbor" in Spanish. Our neighbors know what we mean when we say it, and my kids are learning.
It's the spot of lawn closest to our neighbors. I do most of the work and they are allowed to eat what grows there. We have some of their favorites: Raspberries, strawberries, and sugar snap peas.
One thing I decided to plant here last fall is ajo. A who? Ah-ho. It's how you say "garlic" if you're our neighbors.
I put it in because I wanted the kids to see something growing there over the winter. A few weeks ago, I invited them to pull out the bulbs and shake away the soil. The crop was small, but healthy, thanks to being far from the fungal bed.When I described garlic to the kids, I got blank looks which quickly evaporated, leaving only disinterest. This was not sweet or ready to eat now. They were reluctant to pester their mom with it, so I got to have it back! I plan to plant every clove.
What a nice lady I am, right? I planted a garden for the neighbor kids. So patient. So generous.
Hardly! I have a thick streak of grumpy old man to me. Years ago, the sight of these very neighbor children, wandering through our property, snapping the blooms off the tulips and hanging from my magnolia tree, made me shout "Get off my lawn!" in botched Spanish. Not to be territorial, but I was growing food and they were destructive to it.
So, I had a fair reason to enforce a border, but I still didn't feel good about waging a war on it. Eventually, I realized that these children were not going anywhere. They were very soon going to be teenagers, with childhood memories of the forbidden garden next door and the mean lady who wouldn't share.
As much as they had annoyed me, I couldn't forget that they are also healthy and smart. Thus, they crave a connection with the natural world around them. They are like my children. And my children are far easier to get along with when engaged rather than thwarted. Truly believing that nature benefits a person as they grow up, I couldn't deny that I wanted that for them too. So, I asked what they wanted grown in their garden and made sure their parents knew they had my permission to be there and eat whatever ripened. When I work in rest of the yard, they hang out there, eating and asking questions. They have learned to respect the plants in their garden and no longer deflower everything in sight, since they know some flowers eventually become berries.
Our little neighbors have lived here for five years now, and my kids call them friends. We haven't had much more garden damage at their hands. That might be because they've grown up a little, but I prefer to believe it's because I cultivated a compromise in that little spot of grass we share, along with three bulbs of garlic that grew far far away from the fungus-ridden spot which claimed the rest of my crop.
Here's what I have learned in Vecino Garden: Sharing is necessary for survival.You have to share because you don't know what will happen next. When life deals you troublesome tots and white rot, operating with a little generosity can turn vecinos into amigos and save your bulbs.
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