True Dirt

urbane vs urban gardens

A little wilderness goes a long way in gardens, I think. You don't need a hundred acres, or even one, to find yourself lost in the bliss of a towering bean patch, or a fulmination of dinner-plate dahlias. Wandering squash vines among fountains of hollyhocks, or a lone laden apple tree on a windswept hill--there are varieties of sensation to be found in a slightly wild, or eccentric garden.

Imagine 125 such gardens in one spot! And each one only 100 feet square. That is the vision of the Fort Mason Community Garden where I found myself last Sunday on a breezy, fog tinted afternoon. My friends share one of those 20x5 foot plots with a third friend, after waiting for several years on the perennial waiting list.

Somehow, each plot was completely different from its neighbor plot and yet formed an integrated whole with repeating themes. Dahlias were in their glory and most were giants. In the retarded growing season of the northern California coast, where the hottest days of the summer are still more than a month away, pole beans and squashes, tomato vines and pepper plants are still in their youth. Even lettuces have not bolted in the cool July weather.

Flowers and vegetables mingled in a most congenial chaos. One gardener's utterly austere design: a japanese sand garden with a single dwarf maple and a stand of fountain grass, but in the spirit of the place, perhaps, including a small patch of Genovese basil. Another's whimsy: elegant wrought metal garden table and chairs in the midst of a plot overgrown with jasmine and sages.

While Pat and Dick pulled out invading oxalis, and harvested zucchini I began to explore the labyrinthine paths, cul de sacs, and terraces of the hillside garden close on the shores of San Francisco Bay. The alabaster city tumbled down Telegraph Hill in the distance, and the pungent aroma of a eucalyptus grove wafted through the light fog.

One section of plots sported a flock of whirligigs that whistled in the constant breeze. Another plot contained just a grape vine - of the winemaking variety. Everywhere the gardener's tools of the trade dangled from homemade trellises and plant supports; re-purposed plastic bottles were everywhere, hugging tomato starts or stacked for future use; hoses coiled on rusting wheel wells nailed to posts, displaying the ubiquitous motto of the garden: "save water".

Instructions and garden rules are posted on the central kiosk - a welcoming monument chronicling the events of the garden, with photos of a recent BBQ. There are no instructions or rules for how to create a unique garden style, yet every plot exhibited the creative genius of its gardener, who had made of a small plot of dirt a wonderland far larger in imagination than many grander landscapes.

Though the damp breezes tugged at my hoodie and sunlight remained fitfully obscure, I found myself warmed through with happiness in this urban paradise - this community garden.

Posted by briggs at July 31, 2008 5:58 PM