I am blessed to have a beautiful garden. My home is surrounded by live oaks, their thick branches protecting my house from the ravages of the Texas sun. Out my bedroom window, I look onto Japanese magnolias and from my office see an array of flowering and fruiting trees. When I moved onto the property, I immediately planted grapevines, roses, jasmine, and honeysuckle. In the early spring, the back yard smells like a flower shop. I absolutely love my garden.
In addition to the flowers and trees, I also have a small raised bed that gets full sun, perfect for planting vegetables. Each year when the earth warms enough for the seeds and starts, I plant all sorts of vegetables: pumpkins, squash, cucumbers, tomatoes, corn, sweet and hot peppers, and of course – watermelon. I plant these items with care and lovingly tend the food crops with a tenderness reserved only for these plants. You would probably expect that I do this so that the bounty will be plentiful and I could can and save these vegetable delights for the winter. In fact, I eat almost nothing that comes from my garden. My planting and tending is an act of service. I give 99% of the produce away.
You might think me mad, but I consider my garden plot part of what I do each year to continue and enhance my recovery from alcoholism. Daily during the summer and early fall, I walk into my garden to see what’s ripe, then I pick it and take it to my synagogue – so that people in my community, particularly the needy and elderly who often come to the synagogue for various events, may have the surprise of fresh produce they may not have access to otherwise.
Each day, I place whatever I have into small paper bags – a few tomatoes, an eggplant, two ears of corn – whatever is ready, and hand them to whomever I happen to see. The gifts go to all until they run out, so there is no need for shame for those who need. I make sure they get before I happen to “run into” the rabbi who might enjoy the vegetables, but perhaps needs them a little less than others in our community. And what a delight it is to come back a few days later and hear someone say, “Thank you for the peppers! They were delicious!”
For me, the weeding and tending of the vegetable patch is a meditation. Keeping the plants free from pests is a test of patience. The strawberries, for example, I have abandoned to the squirrels. That is my offering to them to keep them out of the vegetables. In any case, the trials and tribulations of tending the vegetables mirror those of everyday life – only the stakes are lower and the lessons less hard won than outside the garden.
Living a sober life is full of simple joys – such as enjoying the roses, the shade of an old tree, and the delights of giving away fresh produce from a well-tended garden. With pleasures like these, who would want to take up drinking?