Ruth's New Rhythm

The morning was dripping with a dew that clung to her pant legs with a sodden stubbornness. It was a clear day with every indication of happy beauty but Ruth felt heavy today. She had left her house with the sudden realization that today was Wednesday, oh the dreaded Wednesday, when the quiet community garden was transformed from her refuge into a cacophony of chaos when the nearby middle school came to visit.  How she missed the days of stillness when the garden had been her space of inner quietude. Now she had to wake up with the sun, at this ungodly hour, just to experience a fragment of what had once been. As she rounded the corner, her first glimpse of the garden coming into view, her feet slowed further, how much could change in one's life? The sight that had once filled her with exultation now only cast a pall of weariness. She was pulled from such ruminations by a tug from Poppy, her loyal gardening companion for 10 years now. Poppy was a fair, short haired chihuahua that shared her sentiments about humanity intimately.  She had slowed to look at Ruth with those inquisitive, albeit slightly critical eyes wondering at the slowing of pace. It was time to get on, enough of this vacillation and cynicism. 

Ruth entered the garden with enlivened hopes for the day, the sheer beauty of the garden always eclipsed her agitation. The plots sprawled around her rimmed with the honeysuckle she had watched grow over her lifetime. She remembered when her grandfather planted it, could it have been 60 years ago now? She remembered his delicate concern for providing amendments to the heavy clay soil that he had lovingly rehabilitated since founding the community space. This had always been her refuge. A child of nervous disposition, she would rush from the anxiety of school days to the garden where every afternoon her grandfather would be, bent upon the earth in a stance of wonder and reverence. Those days had instructed the course of her life, driving her deeper into understanding the natural world admittedly at the expense of her relationships. The intricacies of relationships had always been a mystery, full of hidden rules and intrigue that always felt beyond her grasp. Here, in the garden, the world was blissfully simple. 

Ruth unhooked Poppy and went into the garden shed to make her coffee. She loved this bit of morning as the Black Pheobe’s swooped in their interloping dives for their first insect catch of the morning. At the sink, commanding a view of the garden she heard the sputtering of the irrigation, it must be hitting the brassica bed at this time, she thought, reveling in the predictable pattern. Suddenly, the noxious sound struck her, something wasn’t right. As she left the shed she took in the geyser of water, shooting 8 feet in the air. As she trampled through the walk, she muttered, “imbeciles, if you want something done you have to do it yourself.” 

This had been part of the demonstration yesterday, brought to the attention of Travis to instruct the high schoolers how to repair irrigation. Having arrived at the bed, she turned off the water in  a mumble of her distaste at others' incompetence, when she noticed it. That silvery flash of trash blinking in the early light. She had noticed it yesterday being teased in the hand of one of those crater faced teenagers. She knew he was going to leave it. She had told him to take his trash out with him, she sighed, people always seemed to prove you right. Pocketing the trash, she began the morning task of dead heading the sweet peas, a fragrant consolation that at least in the early morning light some peace could still be found here. 

The rest of the morning passed seamlessly as Ruth became absorbed in her work, relishing the sight of Poppy so relaxed basking in the sun. The spent sweet peas fell in cascades around Ruth’s boots by the time the first inhabitants of the garden filed in. They were heavily laden with posters and platters advertising the harvest fundraiser later this month. Ruth had allowed herself to forget, the 27th she heaved with a sigh.  They had spoken to her with excitement, that the community garden becoming an education center in partnership with the school should feel like an honor since it was the culmination of generations of work by her family. As if that meant anything to Ruth, those pesky half-wits that snapped limbs from plants. None of them understood what this place meant, but if it was necessary to save the garden what choice did she have?

In seeming affirmation of Ruth’s thoughts, Poppy awoke, erupting into a barking frenzy that sent the merry procession scattering to the farthest reaches of the garden. Ruth flashed Poppy an indulgent smile. Poppy with her back arched and her entire frame devoted to the exertion, how she loved this dog. She bent to give Poppy a grateful pat.

By the time the afternoon sun had passed over the gazebo Ruth was waist deep in the emerging corn stalks training the spindly bean plants to grasp their support. She was exerting a not insubstantial amount of effort to avoid the middle schoolers that had infiltrated the garden like a cloud of locusts. The corn bed was not a part of the activity list today (Ruth always made sure to check the activity list), she should be safe. No sooner had she comforted herself with this thought than she stood up startled by a rustle in the row next to her. There squatted a girl bent in concentration. Ruth cast Poppy a look of irritation for not warning her of the intruder. Poppy however remained perfectly at leisure, watching the girl with her tail slapping the soil quietly. Odd. Terrifically odd, thought Ruth, who was accustomed to Poppy’s profound dislike of anything human. Well as per usual, it was up to Ruth,

 “What do you think you are doing?” she commanded, exerting a stance of arched authority, not terribly unlike Poppy’s eruptive barking display.

The stalks shook and up shot a girl, Ruth couldn’t guess the age, the age of these miscreants were not of interest. 

“Why the hell do you care?”  the girl mimicked, aggressively. 

Ruth stood there sputtering with indignity, unable to formulate words before they both fell silent, defiantly sizing each other up. Ruth took in the lanky girl, dark eyes rimmed in red within a small featured face enveloped in an oversized hoodie. They stood nearly eye level. The girl alternatively scrutinized Ruth with her ripped overalls, worn flannel and dirt caked boots. Her unruly graying hair secured by a bandana wound tightly around her head, skin sun scorched, eyes dark and untrusting. 

“Why don’t you go back with the group?” Ruth countered trying to recover some of the bravado that had dissipated after the girl's response. Her eyes panning to the swarthy littering offender from yesterday, “I suspect you two have a lot in common,” she nodded gesturing over. 

The girl's eyes followed and clouded further, “Jason is a neanderthal, we certainly don’t have anything in common.” 

“Well I don’t think the answer is to be over here,” said Ruth.

“Just give me five minutes, I just want to finish, can you at least give me that?” the girl muttered in a flourish of loose paper she tried to secure from the wind, “Please,” she said suddenly softer in a slackening of resistance. 

“You can have five,” mumbled Ruth as she secured stray hairs firmly behind her bandana, taking the opportunity (she imagined stealthily) to sneak a glance at the girl's papers. 

Rendered in pencil at different angles and lighting were the tendrils of the beans. The girl had managed to capture the fragility combined with the strength that Ruth always found so inspiring in beans as they ascended. She watched the girl's hand move swiftly across the page momentarily mesmerized by her adept speed. The girl must have sensed her hovering because she suddenly looked up, bothered, causing Ruth in a flustered confusion to simulate a sudden piece of debris caught in her eye. 

“I have something in my eye,” she gruffly huffed, heaving her tools from the corn bed in a great riotous rustle before thundering down the pathway to the shed, “Poppy!” she barked storming off. 

The following days brought the normalcy of a well worn rhythm for Ruth. With the exception that the girl was present most mornings.  Largely an innocuous presence Ruth continued with her projects. At this time of year as life was burgeoning forth with such vigor she didn’t have time for extras. There was however the disconcerting occurrence of Poppy betraying Ruth by often being curled at the girls side, an unprecedented occurrence that Ruth had on more than one occasion wondered at. 

The new day dawned in a wet fog, a wonderful reprieve from the heat of the week prior. As she entered the garden, she breathed deeply the saturated scent of the garden. The droplets that hovered had a chimerical quality that never failed to transport Ruth. Suddenly the girl was before her speaking demandingly. 

“Why haven’t you put chips on that bed over there, see,” she produced a notebook, “I was drawing the tomatoes from the two different beds and the ones with cover are producing more blooms and are bigger.”

Unaccustomed to being talked to, Ruth riled, more heatedly perhaps than the occasion demanded because she had intended to do just that before the heat had come.  

“I am going to get to it, it’s on my list. I have had other things to attend to,” snapped Ruth. 

“Sorry, I was just curious,” said the girl, then more quietly, “I thought there might be a reason,” she said, slipping away. 

Ruth similarly retreated, fuming. The nerve of that girl, as if I don’t do enough already! She thinks she knows better! She trundled off, incensed over the entitled brazenness of the youth these days. Ruth ducked into the grape canopy to rip the dying vine away. The exertion worked wonders to eliminate the heat of their exchange and before long she was ready for her second cup of coffee. She journeyed through the garden already anticipating the flash of anger the offending unmulched tomato bed was sure to produce. She slowed in wonder, the bed had been mulched. She glanced around the garden, suspecting Travis had shown up early, (as impossible as that prospect seemed), but found herself alone. In a daze she continued to the shed where beside her coffee pot she saw the paper. There carefully depicted was a tomato bloom, its delicate pedals unfurled around the stamen, the stigma just visible. The refinement and attention to detail was staggering. Below the drawing there was scrawled in a hurried hand, “I am sorry, I really was just curious. I hope I laid the ground cover alright.” Ruth left the shed and went to survey the tomato bed, it had been meticulously applied, mulch butting up to the base of each plant thoroughly, certainly unlike Travis’ sloppy approach. 

The rest of the day had Ruth relegated to an introspective stupor. It certainly was possible the girl hadn’t meant anything offensive, could it have been genuine this desire of hers to understand? Had she been too hasty in her appraisal of the girl and was it perhaps her fault for applying her own sense of inadequacy to the girl's simple inquiry? She ruminated the rest of the morning away until the afternoon approached bringing with it the troupe of middle schoolers. She skirted the group preoccupied until she found the girl on the far reaches, alone and bent over the Calendulas. 

“You applied the mulch too heavily,” Ruth brusquely began. 

The girl hazarded a glance up. 

“I’m sorry, I see you working all the time and I just wanted to help. I know Travis, he’s a friend of my brothers, if he’s all you have as help…” she trailed off, before looking up again this time replying more boldly, “Maybe if you just showed me I would know how to do it.” 

“Fine,” said Ruth, “follow me, we can’t have you running amok in the garden without any sense.” 

Ruth hurdled forward, the girl bustling after to avoid being left behind. 

“See here,” Ruth pointed, “the mulch only needs to be a few inches deep, 2-4 inches to be exact.” 

“What happens if it’s thicker?” asked the girl.

“A mulch that is too thick prevents water from reaching the plants. The purpose of the mulch is to retain water from evaporating off the soil as well as providing organic matter that will eventually break down and feed the plants.” 

The girl bent hurriedly, trying to spread out the areas where the thickness was too great.

“You don’t have to fix it, I will do it later,” began Ruth.

“No, I want to do it right,” interrupted the girl. 

Ruth bent to aid the girl, they worked alongside each other quietly. Ruth noted that the girl worked with efficient speed and care, so often those qualities didn’t converge. They made short work of the tomato bed, Ruth standing up hastily, breathing heavily. A fact she did her best to camouflage by enacting an urgency to weed the corner of the bed where she could kneel. The girl shuffled over, tentatively, Poppy in tow. She kneeled too, starting to pull the weeds. 

“You know, I could help you more in the mornings, before school?” she ventured, clearly nervous. She continued, speaking in a rush “I would love to learn how you plant the seedlings, I was in the greenhouse and they had begun to come up, and they had different colors and shaped leaves that then formed into other leaves that were a different leaf on the same plant and that was interesting, so I sketched it, and then I was wondering why that is and how you did that? but you know…”

“You can come tomorrow morning, we can start there,” interposed Ruth, already hastily retreating to the shed. “What’s your name by the way?” demanded Ruth. 

“Charlotte,” the girl answered just before Ruth had ducked into the shed. 

The girl looked down smiling, petting Poppy where she laid at the girl's feet. 

Ruth walked home that evening, mind a whirl. What would be a good activity for the girl? Ruth needed to deadhead the Calendula so that it would flower in time for the harvest fundraiser. That could be a place to start, thought Ruth pleased. The girl should like that with her attention to detail and her apparent love of flowers. That should inspire her. The Calendula had such a spectrum of color this time of year. Yes, she should like that mused Ruth, tossing her hair free. 

Charlotte arrived ready in the morning, she showed a great propensity for the finesse of snipping the blooms that had died away. Ruth slowly learned how to teach over the days that followed, their mornings together falling into a rhythm beginning with coffee for Ruth and a run down of their chores for the morning. Ruth made sure to fill the bird bath every evening she left, she found she enjoyed the way the girl would step into the garden and delight in the birds bathing. 

The night of the harvest fundraiser had arrived, it appeared it was a success, thought Ruth, and an unfamiliar part of herself had to admit she was glad. She uncomfortably tried to mingle before succumbing to her refuge in the bench canopied by clematis. These were the times that she felt alone, watching the ease of others interacting. It didn’t help that she was in clothes that chaffed and that Poppy had been requested to not attend, since her “presence was contrary to their efforts,” was how they had put it. She heard a tentative step when around the hollyhock came Charlotte, Ruth couldn’t help smiling. Charlotte was in pressed overalls and a new flannel, her notebook as ever secured closely by her side. Charlotte feigned interest in the hollyhocks, stroking their thin pedals distractedly before she asked warily, without looking up. 

“Can I join you?” She had asked so quietly Ruth at first couldn’t be sure.

 “You may.” she answered. 

The girl shuffled over, seating herself on the farthest edge of the bench on the very tip. Laughter and jubilant voices just reached them, but beyond that quiet. A quiet that while not necessarily uncomfortable they were both conscious of. They watched the bees buzzing amongst the verbena and rolling in the pollen of the artichoke blossoms.

“May I see what you have done in your notebook?” asked Ruth. 

Charlotte momentarily embarrassed, also seemed secretly pleased as she tentatively began flipping the pages growing more animated as Ruth commended certain features. More time than they intended passed easily between them until the microphone wailed alerting them of the beginning of the speeches. However unenjoyable, it was time to return to the party. Ruth voiced such and they meandered over together. 

How different it felt thought Ruth to have someone to share this with. As Ruth began to notice her own trepidation she couldn’t help noticing Charlotte tugging on her clothes and repeatedly securing her hair behind her ear. Charlotte was nervous too. “How about we go check on the tomato seedlings,” Ruth ventured. “They probably could do with a potting up about now.”

 Charlotte’s relief was evident. 

“That sounds great! Yes we probably should,” responded Charlotte, suddenly buoyant. 

Ruth and Charlotte shared a confidential smile. It was such a beautiful thing to have someone who understood. Perhaps there was enough garden to go around for everyone, thought Ruth as they circumnavigated the party through the slanting light and evening bird song.