In Montana, we grew lettuce next to an alley.
In California, we planted peas in a barren side yard.
In Alaska, we potted 30, 12- feet- tall plants for seven green tomatoes.
In Oregon, I and my five- year-old cleared weeds in a dog pen for two tomato plants.
Then my husband built a fenced garden.
and yearly hauled and spread mint hay.
As our children grew gardens grew rich and green.
When he was sick, weeds used the garden.
A year after he was gone, others used the garden.
I rebuilt an accessible garden.
After two more years sharing,
and sporadic use during the virus.
I reclaimed this garden as my own.
I hired helpers.
A horticulture student lasted three weeks,
a high school student lasted two days.
Today with weighted foot
I push my walker through gravel,
and leave ruts around raised beds
of tomatoes, basil, and beets.
Last night a creek flowed
in the gravel between beds
from a broken irrigation fitting.
Turned off, the parched vegetables wilted.
I tug and fight a hose to stretch it.
and avoid cucumbers overflowing onto the path
The hose reaches its limit, just close enough.
Engaging my brakes, I turn, keep my balance,
sit on the seat, and spray the strawberries.
Yesterday's 95 degree heat dried
this heavy clay soil in cracks.
Among leaves with browned edges,
I spy one beautiful little berry.
It is small and bright red and
tastes so sweet - this precious, precious strawberry.
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