If you build it, they will come.

Ok, I admit it, I was wrong. I went to the barn where I keep my horse and I saw a plywood sign on the road spray painted “Free garden space”. I asked the farm owner, “What is up with the sign?” He said, “Look!” He proudly showed me that he had enclosed a section of his fallow hay ground with deer fence and tilled it smooth. “It’s a new community garden.”

Considering that I was the county extension agent and had organized many of these gardens around the area, I thought he was being naïve. It takes a village to raise a community garden; committees formed, goals established, raised beds built. His farm was out in West Valley where there was no transportation and his neighbors all had acreage. Why would anyone out here need garden space and who would travel all the way out to this spot from town to use it? All that effort, gone to waste.

A few days later I saw activity inside the fence. Strings were being tied, rows created, seeds sprinkled. What? Who? Soon the garden was springing up with flowers and leaves and shoots. Neighbors further up the road were on rocky ground and in shaded areas. The deer were a constant threat and plantings were always under assault. It became obvious the location was perfect. People would stop by the garden on their way home from work and tend to their young vegetables. I was amazed.

After the first season, there were so many friends that wanted to join the garden that the farmer expanded the fence. Irrigation was improved from a single hose to an automated system. I did have my nose slightly out of joint when I realized that the project for having the riding arena enlarged was on hold so that the garden size could be increased. More and more gardeners arrived daily. A shed was constructed for tools. One gardener installed a small plastic house to start her tomatoes. A few of my master gardeners showed up and started planting. It was fabulous.

Centennial Farm is the location. Les Keller is the farmer. He is shy about talking about his success but when asked about the garden, he gushes about how much he enjoys it. “I meet all the nicest people who live nearby and I am constantly receiving fresh vegetables. I wish more farmers would consider taking a small piece of ground and provide it to others for gardening. The fence and the water are a small price to pay for the satisfaction of seeing nine families from my area growing their own healthy food. I am not sure how I would have met so many neighbors if I hadn’t done this.”

As I ride my horse on the farm, I wave to the gardeners who ask where my plot is. I say, “I have a horse.” This is my choice. The sunflowers hang over the fence and rattle in the breeze. The gardeners exchange ideas and advice under the brightly colored umbrella installed over a spool. Les refuses to acknowledge that this garden was an act of generosity but his neighbors disagree. He has offered to help any other farmers interested in creating a community garden for their neighbors. Build it and they will come.

Sheep

The other day I was making a presentation and I told this story. I was painting a picture of me.

When my father passed away unexpectedly over 20 years ago, I had the sudden urge to buy sheep. I don’t know whether it was something biblical or what. My dog had died three weeks after my father and I was bereft. I had horses but the thought of a soft, furry animal gently ruminating while I sat in the grass made me feel comforted. Within days, I was the proud owner of a black Oxford cross and a caramel colored Tunis. They were bottle babies and followed me everywhere. Just as I had imagined, we spent many hours sitting in a meadow overlooking our pond. When it was time for their first shearing I kept the fleece. I met a group of ladies that taught me how to spin the wool into lovely yarn. Spinning proved to be a form of meditation and soothed my soul. The rhythm of the foot pedal and the easy slip of the roving through my fingers was heavenly on quiet evenings. I started taking my lambs and my spinning into the neighboring elementary schools. 

By now it was time to start considering a new dog. Wouldn’t it be fun to have a Border collie that would work the sheep at the schools and on our farm? I purchased a lively pup my girls named Charlie. The sheep were unimpressed with this young tyke. They followed me everywhere for a graham cracker and did not see the need. I was totally frustrated by my attempts to get the sheep or the dog to go in any direction that I desired. The ladies in my spinning group recommended an expert sheep dog handler. I was thrilled it was a woman. I invited her to my farm for a consultation.

The handler and I spoke while she met my dog and my sheep. She looked at me and shook her head. I will paraphrase, “You can’t have a dumb dog, dumb sheep and a dumb person. Someone in this mix has to know something.” I was not deterred. I had a vision in my mind and somehow we were going to get there. She said, “OK, bring your collie to my farm. I have dogged sheep and I will work the dog.” So off we went, Charlie and I on our adventure. We had a blast. I learned to walk with the trainer and hold the staff out over her sheep. The sheep clustered under the staff and when Charlie got too close, I would tap him with the staff to move him out. He learned to bye and way. He was a natural. Eventually, my dog and I tackled our sheep at home. The sheep were correct; there was no need for the dog. They went wherever I wanted for a cookie.

I had succeeded in creating my vision. We had muddled through – my dumb dog, my dumb sheep and me. I told this story about how it reminded me of my early days as extension agent in Montana. Once I had unpacked the boxes, I had this sinking feeling in my stomach. I don’t know about growing plants in Montana; I don’t know what kind of bugs or weeds they have here; I don’t know anything about cherry trees. What I do know is that I want to help people grow their food. I want to see them be successful and feel a sense of pride about their land. I held this vision and figured it out. When my clientele asked a question, I had no problem saying, “I don’t know, but I will find out.” I assisted my growers by consulting with the top researchers in the country. Just like with the sheep, I had to start with one piece of the puzzle. The rest fell into place.

I guess that is me. I can hold a vision, even if I have no idea how to get there. I don’t have to have the answers. They will come. This philosophy has served me so far. I am now in the process of building a house. I am gathering facts from excavators, framers, health department inspectors, general contractors, real estate agents, bankers and land owners. I can do this. My road may not be straight and narrow. It is sure to have a few bends and hair-pin turns, but that’s ok. I’ll get there. I always do.

Eventually, the dog herded sheep, the job exceeded my expectations and soon I will be peacefully curled up in my new house. I don’t know where or how, but it will happen. “Ignorance is bliss” – or so I have heard. I can’t say I know that to be true. On the other hand, I am not going to let my lack of knowledge keep me from my goal. I can always learn more. I’ll find my inner sheepdog and use it. I’m going to keep my sense of humor and smile when I realize I have taken the long way around. This will make a good story someday when I am in a rocker. Until then, keep a clear picture and soldier on!



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