The day dawned with some dread-- today was the spring meeting and work day for our community garden. I don't mind the meeting, and I don't mind the working, it's the community I have a problem with. I don't like the awkward social situation of trying to figure out my place in a massive hive of spring gardeners trying to tidy up the common areas. Give me a solitary job and I will be fine, but this nebulous "clean up" involving all sorts of questions and small talk with strangers is excruciating to me.
Still, I like having a garden, and so I sucked up my angst and made my way up the hill this morning, hoping that the predicted snow and sleet would rescue me. Oh, there was no such meteorological knight in shining armor, so I signed up for the crew closest to my garden, the gate, and where I parked the car.
It turned out that I was teamed up with one of my neighbors, the lady from the next garden over who was on her best behavior, and another woman I had nodded to casually over the last few summers. We worked diligently to clear the fence line along the sidewalk of weeds and vines and trash, and the small talk was not even the least bit painful. As the clock neared the hour of freedom from the only slightly onerous bondage, one of our crew looked up. "Oh, here's my daughter now," she said. "She's one of my co-gardeners."
A slender woman in her early thirties approached us. I turned my head, my brain scratching with that tickle of recognition. "Is your name Heather?" I blurted, no longer reticent in the least.
She nodded.
"Heather D---?" I added, unnecessarily, for I knew exactly who she was. "I was your sixth grade English teacher!"
With that reminder, she recognized me too. "Tell her what you're doing now," her mom prompted her. It turns out she is an elementary school counselor working under a principal who was her seventh grade English teacher.
"It will be fun to see you around the garden this year!" she said, and I agreed.
It was like a message from the universe: Hey! Tracey! Community? Is never really bad.
Still, I like having a garden, and so I sucked up my angst and made my way up the hill this morning, hoping that the predicted snow and sleet would rescue me. Oh, there was no such meteorological knight in shining armor, so I signed up for the crew closest to my garden, the gate, and where I parked the car.
It turned out that I was teamed up with one of my neighbors, the lady from the next garden over who was on her best behavior, and another woman I had nodded to casually over the last few summers. We worked diligently to clear the fence line along the sidewalk of weeds and vines and trash, and the small talk was not even the least bit painful. As the clock neared the hour of freedom from the only slightly onerous bondage, one of our crew looked up. "Oh, here's my daughter now," she said. "She's one of my co-gardeners."
A slender woman in her early thirties approached us. I turned my head, my brain scratching with that tickle of recognition. "Is your name Heather?" I blurted, no longer reticent in the least.
She nodded.
"Heather D---?" I added, unnecessarily, for I knew exactly who she was. "I was your sixth grade English teacher!"
With that reminder, she recognized me too. "Tell her what you're doing now," her mom prompted her. It turns out she is an elementary school counselor working under a principal who was her seventh grade English teacher.
"It will be fun to see you around the garden this year!" she said, and I agreed.
It was like a message from the universe: Hey! Tracey! Community? Is never really bad.
Aww - Love it! I love that you connected with a former student in this way.
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