The Vegetable Plot Mystery

Tamara and I tried our hand at community gardening about ten years ago, when the city established a group of 24 plots in the adjacent park.  It was at the end of our street and we could see the garden being made from our 3rd floor balcony.  Upon learning a plot would only be $40, we bought in.  Without a car, however, or much money to spare, we didn't go the extra step of buying mulch and fertiliser.  It was a lark, anyway — our goal was to get our fingers dirty and join for the feel of the experience.

Wasn't much of a feel.  Though all the lots were taken, we hardly saw a soul there; when we did, they weren't particularly friendly.  We were living essentially on the edge of the city core, in a neighbourhood called Bankview.  I'd once lived in the next neighbourhood over, in the core, where the flat streets were pestered by drunks wandering home from the middle of Spring to nearly Halloween.  I used to remark that Bankview was quieter because the drunks couldn't climb the hill, which was true.  Apart from the drunks, though, the neighbourhood still had that grumbling white caucasian habit of wanting to be all grumpy together.

The city hadn't provided running water, so to water the plants we had to carry milk jugs of water, four litres each, over to the park.  Our apartment was a walk-up, so that meant five half-flights of stairs and then a journey of about 120 yards, for not much effect from one trip.  We hoped for rain which in Alberta never comes often enough, and lots of times we'd come to water the plot and find it bone dry.

Still, the onions, cabbages, carrots and especially the peas we planted were doing well by the end of August.  The peas were going crazy, having climbed all over the little metal trellises I'd bought for them, and we looked forward to a good fresh crop from the lot.

Unfortunately, coming home from work just before September began, and passing by the plot, I found that every carrot had been pulled up and every pea plucked.  I'd gotten some benefit from the onions, as I'd go over and cut off some of the greens that flourished above ground — but unfortunately, the bulbs weren't very big and we didn't get much from those.  The cabbages never did get enough water to make much headway, and we'd long given up on those.  It was really the peas we wanted, though.  Pity about that.

We didn't buy into the plot again.  There was no way of telling who in the neighbourhood robbed us; I console myself by thinking they were probably very hungry, and maybe the peas helped them get through the winter.  Though they wouldn't have lasted past the end of September.  They could have left a few for us, but nary a one.

I just don't find this kind of charity all that rewarding.