Posted by Elizabeth

I’ve always hated the phrase, “Grow where you’re planted.”  It sounds like a trite platitude for people who are too lazy to change their situation.  That, and it’s just sort of a dopey phrase.  But there is something apropos about using gardening lingo to describe personal transformation.  When I was in graduate school, a client presented to the counseling center because “she had outgrown her pot.”  We were all pretty sure she was on pot, but the metaphor was apt, elegantly describing her state of mind.  Regardless of my personal thoughts on the phraseology, I’ve recently made a decision to grow where I’m planted; or, as I prefer, “dig deeper” (more gardening terminology, I know).  This plan involves doing all the things I’ve always wanted to do, but have never felt invested enough in my life here to do.  The first item on my list?  Volunteering for a local organic farm.  By working the fields two and a half hours one morning a week for the next eight weeks, I’ll receive 50% off my weekly boxes, which provide a king’s ransom of fresh produce.   I figured this would be a good opportunity to enjoy fresh air and exercise, while learning a thing or two about food production.  Oh, and I’m going to make a bunch of new best friends.

This is where the magic's gonna happen!

Perhaps it’s the change-a-holic in me, having started and ended more endeavors than I’d care to count, but I’ve never had difficulty meeting new people.  I was the kid who wandered off once at a picnic, only to be found minutes later munching on a sandwich and chatting amiably with a nearby family.  My parents were always afraid that I would be kidnapped, convinced that I’d see it as an opportunity to make a new friend.  Not surprisingly, my overly-trusting attitude, a strong desire to have others like me, and a chameleon-like ability to fit into any group dynamic has caused me problems in the past.  And sometimes I  have a tendency to set my expectations a tad high.  But this would be different!

6:50 am:  I roll out of bed, bleary-eyed.  This is the earliest I have been up in months, and I slept terribly the night before.  “You’re nervous,” says Maikael.  “No I’m not,” I snap.  “I’m excited.”

7:35 am: I scramble out the door five minutes late, without time for coffee.  That’s okay!, I assure myself.  Working in the fields is a natural pick-me-up!

7:50 am: I arrive at the farm and spot a field of heads bobbing in the distance.  These are the people I am going to spend the morning discussing the meaning of life with.  I am suddenly very nervous, but plaster a smile on my face as I approach the Farm Manager for my first assignment.  Will I be picking peppers?  Pruning basil?  He tells me to begin uprooting a row of tomato plants that have been plagued with disease, scavenging for any extant fruit.  Today I am harvesting death.

7:55 am: I settle in next to the only two women already working the fields.  I smile and wait for them to say “hello,” but they just keep talking to one another, seemingly oblivious to my presence, as I fill my box with tart green tomatoes.  Are these ones too small?  Too firm?  Too mushy?  Am I really supposed to pull this plant out of the ground?

8:10 am: More people show up, all of who seem to know one another.  The group quickly moves towards the middle of the row, leaving me by myself, kneeling in a muddy field.  I begin making my way back towards the group, convinced that I will win them over with my charm and wit.  As I pick over the uprooted plants, gathering a few missed tomatoes, a woman approaches.  “Honey, we’ve already gone over those plants.”  I suddenly feel like a four year-old.  “When we work as a group, we use a system call leapfrogging.”  Her voice is one big air quote.

8:16 am: I look at my watch, convinced it must be at least 9 am by now.

8:40 am: We finish the first row and move onto the second.  The Farm Manager directs me and another woman to start at one end, while the rest of the group migrates to the opposite side.

8:50 am: In the last 10 minutes I have discovered that my partner is “on walkabout” in New Mexico, recently attended The Rainbow Gathering, lived in the Bay Area, is going through a nasty divorce, loves her therapist, would rather have no sex than bad sex, knows everything there is to know about Costa Rica, doesn’t believe that gardening is mindless work, talks to insects and plants in Spanish, and uses the phrase “right on” to punctuate every sentence.

9:00 am: My Partner goes to get a new box, and I quickly move to the end of the row where everyone else has congregated.

9:10 am: A girl, wearing tight jeans, a skinny black T-shirt that says “Velvet Teen,” and the kind of cowboy hat Matthew McConnaughey wears to a movie premiere, begins talking with another girl about the new Harry Potter film.  Just as I am about to give the movie my enthusiastic endorsement, the girls start giggling and making fun of Rupert Grint’s acting abilities.

9:15 am: Velvet Teen mentions that Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are splitting, so I feign mock surprise.  This wins Velvet Teen over.  My Partner catches up to me, and begins talking about “vegetable pornography.”  Everyone else moves further up the row.

9:30 am: Progress!  Someone asks me my name!  In a desperate move, I mention, totally unsolicited, that I just returned from a trip around the world, a sure-fire conversation starter.  I am such a whore.

9:45 am: We finish pulling the tomatoes and heap them in a large pile at the end of the field.  An iridescent salamander slithers across the rows, causing multiple people to screech, “Watch out for the little guy!” Everyone must stop and admire the beautiful creature.

10:00 am: We begin pulling tomatillo plants, which have succumbed to the same fate as the tomatoes.  A few people purr, “Poor plants!”  When someone mentions an ah-mazing grilled pizza they ate recently, I offer a recipe, to which I am assured that you don’t need a recipe for grilled pizza.  This is the same person who can’t figure out what to do with a tomatillo other than whip it into salsa verde.

10:15 am: Having largely given up, I offhandedly mention an article I recently read that discussed the repercussions of giving kids weird names.

10:30 am: Everyone is still talking about weird names, and although it’s time to leave, people suddenly start asking me questions.  Although I’m not yet sure of my place amongst these people, I can’t help but feel just a little bit victorious.

10:40 am: As I make my way to the car, My Partner calls to me, “Well, are you coming back?”  I’m not going anywhere for the next seven weeks.  I’m digging deep.