In the Concrete Garden

Today I asked the men to write about their experiences with gardening.  This is one essay I wanted to share with you.

“As I reflect back on my childhood and even my teenage years I cannot remember ever seeing a garden.  Could it be that there were gardens all around me and I never took notice? I think not! I grew up in a concrete jungle, not dirt to turn, no compost to put in the dirt.  The only compost you would see is the trash on the sidewalks, streets and halls, not much for growing, huh. I guess some kids were lucky to grow up to see things such as flowers blooming. Me what I considered luck was waking up the next day and having clothing on my back no matter how holey they were, me what I considered luck was having a roof over my head no matter how cold it was inside because we had no heat. Gardening, lets be serious folks; in my life there was no such thing. The closest I ever got to dirt being dug up and flowers were at funerals. The closest I got to compost were dead bodies. Plain and simple there were no gardens where I grew up.  Just projects, concrete walls, concrete everything from the sidewalk to the streets, and finally to the people around me. This is and was my garden. There’s no regrets in this garden, there’s no do overs, no waiting for the following season to plant more, no no no, my gardening season was year round.  You make do or become compost in the concrete garden.”

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