Today’s chore is to crawl and stoop about the beds to haul in Ms. Johann’s final harvest.
You can ask as many times as you want and use all the interviewing tricks you know but she won’t give you the recipe. “They’d go ahead and screw it up and then it’d be ‘oh, Ms. Johanna’s cake isn’t good at all,’ all over around here.”
The operation will take only a few minutes. I don my mask and slip the gloves and pruning shears into my back pocket and take to the streets.
Masks that hide the lower portion of our faces make us uneasy because they deny a full picture of what our character and state of mind might be. If you can’t fully identify someone then you don’t know how to react to them. If you don’t know how to react, your fear mechanism ramps up.
I went out yesterday searching for community gardens in Brooklyn. My idea was to see how, during this particular planting season, a community is managing to work together in narrow plots coached from the rubble of vacant lots.
You know what I am going to do today? I am going to practice serenity, tally up the good things I can control, give out long hugs, be certain that, soon, the sky won’t be as gray as it has been these many months and that the temperature will stop vacillating between bone-numbing and heat wave.