Borderline

"Excuse me!" a woman hailed me from the other side of the chainlink fence that surrounds our community garden. Our plot is on the perimeter, and so the sidewalk and street are right there. Most of the time passing pedestrians ignore me as I work in the garden, although I do get an occasional greeting or wave, but as the season progresses and the herbs and flowers grow up along the fenceline there is a bit more privacy. But yesterday, I had just finished clipping the dry stalks of some sunflowers and zinnias, and there was a clear view of me and my garden.

"Yes?" I replied politely, standing up from where I had been gleaning the last of the sun gold cherry tomatoes.

"How does this place work?" she asked. "Do any of you ever sell your vegetables?"

I explained that it was a community garden where we grew produce for our own use. "We do donate extra to the food pantry," I finished.

"But no one sells anything?" she repeated.

I shook my head apologetically.

"But those tomatoes! That basil!" she pointed at the plot next to mine.

"She has some beautiful stuff," I agreed.

"What about you? What do you have growing?" She looked over my shoulder.

"All I have left are some hot peppers and the tail end of the tomatoes," I said.

"We love hot peppers!" she told me. "We eat those more than anything else!"

I laughed at her brazen hint and shrugged. "Well I've got extra," I assured her and went to the potting bench for a bag. 

I picked a half dozen heirloom paprika peppers and was on my way to hand them over when she called, "What about a few tomatoes?"

I nodded and pointed to the gate where I could hand her the bag.

"Thank you so much!" she said sincerely.

"You're welcome," I answered, and walked back to my garden shaking my head.