{"id":479,"date":"2021-09-28T11:40:12","date_gmt":"2021-09-28T15:40:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/?p=479"},"modified":"2021-09-28T11:40:12","modified_gmt":"2021-09-28T15:40:12","slug":"when-things-matter-signs-of-care-in-the-madison-community-garden","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/issue-2\/when-things-matter-signs-of-care-in-the-madison-community-garden\/","title":{"rendered":"\u201cWhen Things Matter\u201d: Signs of Care in the Madison Community Garden\u00a0"},"content":{"rendered":"

Through this uplifting and introspective piece, Sarah Waring reflects on the unique relationship between humans and the natural world in Bauer Park (Madison, Connecticut). Waring endearingly describes Bauer Park as an \u201cimpressionist painting\u201d with incredible diversity in structure and plant life. In doing so, she continues to address the connection between living and inanimate components of the garden, carefully guiding readers through the general humanity of natural spaces like Bauer Park. –Charlotte Rubel ’22, Editorial Assistant<\/span><\/em><\/span><\/p>\n

<\/h4>\n

\u201cWhen Things Matter\u201d: Signs of Care in the Madison Community Garden\u00a0<\/strong><\/h4>\n
Sarah Waring ’24<\/strong><\/h5>\n
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Sarah Waring. “Madison Community Garden: fence.” 2020.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

In 1990, 86-year-old Erwin Bauer gave his family farm to the town of Madison, Connecticut, where his family had lived since before the interstate was built. Now titled Bauer Park, the 65 acres of sprawling fields of feathery grass, glittering ponds, and trails are something out of an Impressionist painting. The majority of the park, though it doubtless requires maintenance, is left to look like it has truly been given over to nature. But across from the sweet pepperbush and Joe-Pye weed, tucked on the other side of the parking lot, simple split rail fences mark off a community garden. With no paths, no set structure, and a different person controlling each individual plot, the Madison garden is messy and bears what Robert Pogue Harrison would call \u201cthe mark of Cura\u201d\u2014irrefutable evidence of the dedication and care of its gardeners.<\/span><\/p>\n

Madison is not a community I can call my own, or at least not on a reliable basis. I first arrived here\u2014both the town and the garden\u2014in early June, and have been coming in and out ever since. When I take the twenty-minute walk to my favorite coffee shop, people still look at me, confused as to why they can\u2019t recognize my face. I know very little about this place. But when I cross the garden fence for the first time, I feel as if I am getting to know each community member.<\/span><\/p>\n

The garden was full in June, not of plants, but of people bent over dry mounds of dirt and a few patches of green leaves beginning to shoot forth. The sun would catch on the wide rims of their hats and leave their backs an angry red. Now, in mid-September, the air is cool, the sun is close to setting, and even from the car I can see that the fenced-in square is almost bursting. A patch of sunflowers tower over the rest of the garden, and around them other colors spring forth: purple trumpet-shaped blossoms; small, round bushes dotted with orange; some sort of many-petaled flower (marigolds? chrysanthemums?) clustered in all different shades of pink. The rest of the garden, though less colorful, is distinctly alive.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Beyond the fence, the layout of the garden begins to reveal itself. This is not to say that the structure is strict in any way; the square of grass is quite simply divided into a series of individual plots, each approximately twenty feet by twenty feet. Every spring, these are rented to members of the town by the Beach and Recreation Department. The plots are marked off and labeled by wooden pegs, though some gardeners have chosen to use small wire fences. Noticeable in the garden is the lack of what some would call \u201chard features,\u201d things like walkways, stonework, and bodies of water. The paths are just wide swaths of grass, dotted with green wound-up hoses for convenience. In a more formal garden, hard features would serve as organization\u2014a reminder that the garden maintains a coherent form. They give the visitor direction: walk this way, stop here, take in this specific view. Their absence, in a way, loosens the garden, gives it space to breathe. Walking through it is casual, like a visit with an old friend. Whoever chooses to enter the community garden also chooses the way in which they experience it.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

When it comes to the plots themselves, the contents vary widely. Some are still partly barren, strewn with bricks. Some have explosions of growth, plants fighting for space inside the fences. Some are neatly organized and well-tended, others are becoming overgrown. It is fall, so in several plots stems are starting to bend and brown is creeping its way among the green. Petals and stalks flutter in the gentle evening wind. It looks almost as if the garden itself is breathing, in tune with those tending.<\/span><\/p>\n

In his work Gardens: An Essay on the Human Condition<\/em>, Robert Pogue Harrison describes the myth of the Roman goddess Cura, or Care. In this creation myth, Cura shapes humanity from clay found in a river, and Jupiter gives the body life. Cura, Jupiter, and the Earth split their claims over the human: when it dies, Jupiter will receive the spirit and Earth the body, but Cura \u201cshall possess it as long as it lives\u201d (6). For this reason, Harrison argues, humanity is predicated on care, of utter devotion to something beyond oneself. \u201cHumans are fully human,\u201d he says, \u201conly when things matter\u201d (9). Gardens planted by humans, therefore, bear the \u201cmark of Cura\u201d, the physical embodiment of humanity\u2019s \u201cirrepressible need to devote themselves to something\u201d (6). They represent an innate passion and desire to work, to engage in what we would call labors of love.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Sarah Waring. “Madison Community Garden: flag.” 2020.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Walking through the garden at Bauer Park, the mark of Cura is everywhere. It is evident in the plots, where each individual gardener has chosen their own style. Some are growing flowers that erupt orange and red; some have tomatoes and eggplants the size of a baby\u2019s fist. Some have even undertaken the task of growing pumpkins and squash, with the vines curling gently along the dirt. And, as with most gardens, these plots are not defined solely by the species that grow within them. There are wooden signs, painted by children\u2019s hands; stone Buddhas in the shelter of shrubs; birdhouses, marble benches, plastic butterflies, and a few plain old lawn chairs. The people who placed these decorations in the soil of their 20′ x 20′ plots most likely did not think of them as symbols. They are. They represent the other cares that the gardeners, as Harrison would say, are \u201cheld fast\u201d by family, mindfulness, nature, peace. Notably, there are three large flags throughout the garden, each in a different plot. One is the American flag, one stands for the United Nations, and the last is rainbow. These, which can all be seen from the parking lot, are perhaps the most visible (and most broad) signs of what\u2019s important to the community members: their country, the world, and the principle of love. Both physically and in representation, they are what matters to the people who put them there\u2014the things that make them fully human.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

By their very definition\u2014as objects that are not living\u2014these items serve as the garden\u2019s hardscape. Instead of a themed, carefully planned assortment of stone statues and benches, the visitor instead witnesses the mismatch inherent in any sort of communal project. Where traditional features of hardscape would section off the garden or guide the guest through it, these small and varied pieces do the same in a different, gentler way, indicating the character to which each plot belongs. In a sense, then, this garden is given coherence by its diversity of cares.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

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Sarah Waring. “Madison Community Garden: wheelbarrow.” 2020.<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

The garden also shows its humanity through its imperfections. Here a wheelbarrow has been overturned, gloves strewn on the ground nearby; here a plant support cage has fallen to the side, taking its flowers. In several places vegetables, already detached from their stems, have been left to lie in the dirt for the unforeseeable future. The remnants of old plants have been trampled. It is undeniably messy here, nothing like the perfectly manicured flower beds of the botanical gardens I used to spend hours in. No one here is being paid to keep their foliage neat, or trained in the \u201cproper\u201d way to garden. In fact, working here <\/span>costs <\/span><\/i>money\u2014$25 a plot. The citizens of Madison are not here to labor for money, or to carry out a job in a specific way. They are here to work because they want to; they cultivate life because they enjoy watching it grow, enjoy coming home with new calluses on their fingers and grass-stained clothes to throw in the washing machine. Rather than the careful perfection of formal gardens, like elaborately iced cakes in a bakery window, the community garden is more like a grandmother\u2019s apple pie, in which messiness is equivalent to being \u201cmade with love.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The garden treats its caretakers with love, too. A series of case studies, as covered in a 2016 meta-analysis by Soga et al., have proven that gardening is positively associated with a variety of health benefits, including decreases in symptoms of anxiety and depression. Gardening is also positively associated with an increase in quality of life, physical activity levels, and cognitive function (Soga et al.). These effects can be immediate, and can also last for a long time. Every time a member of the garden tills a patch of earth or unravels a hose, they are fostering the well-being of their own body and mind. The opportunity gardens provide for contact with nature, as well as the physical activity they encourage, makes them an incredibly valuable resource.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The case studies covered in Soga\u2019s meta-analysis also indicate that gardens are positively correlated with an elevated sense of community, which is certainly evident here. Close to the exit of the garden, pinned to the back of a shed, a sign reads \u201c\u2018Madison Looks After its Own\u2019: Surplus food donations from the Bauer Park gardeners to the Madison Food Bank.\u201d\u00a0 Passing this donation shed and exiting the garden, I come across a second, smaller garden framed by an arch of knotted vine. This second garden does not have designated sections, and in addition to flowers it contains small trees and bushes. A sign tacked to the fence says, \u201cWelcome to the Bauer Farming Project Outdoor Classroom!\u201d\u00a0 The sign goes on to explain that this garden is used in educational programs, both for the Madison public schools and the general public. \u201cThe garden is maintained by volunteers,\u201d it says. There\u2019s also an orchard behind it, full of small and scraggly trees. The integration of the food bank and education into the garden indicates that this town cares deeply about these things, and about its members in general. It\u2019s a sign that Madison wishes to cultivate life in other ways; to nourish its people, to support them, to watch them grow.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Without having spoken to anyone, simply by looking at the dirt their hands have dug and the grass their feet have trod, I am able to tell how deeply this community cares for its plants and for its people. I picture the gardeners and all the work they do: hands full of seed packets in early spring, pushing signs into scorched earth in summer, uprooting dead plants as fall creeps in. I picture them standing in the local nurseries, buying tiny sculptures and gloves with rough palms. As I begin my journey back to the parking lot, I feel a new, although temporary, sense of understanding towards the town that has been harboring me. Even as an outsider, I can hear the gentlest echo of the care that has existed here. Call it the touch of Cura.<\/span><\/p>\n

This Tuesday evening, like all others in Madison, is quiet. The only sounds nearby are the soft crunch of grass and the goldfinches rubbing their feathers together. But it feels almost as if there is another sound, too: the stems and leaves and dirt whispering,<\/span>\u201cSomeone was here. Someone cared enough to come here, day after day, and bring me to life.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Works Cited\u00a0<\/strong><\/h4>\n

\u201cBauer Park: Madison, CT.\u201d\u00a0Bauer Park | Madison, CT<\/i>, Town of Madison, CT.\u00a0www.madisonct.org\/166\/Bauer-Park.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCommunity Garden: Madison, CT.\u201d\u00a0Community Garden | Madison, CT<\/i>, Town of\u00a0Madison, CT. www.madisonct.org\/514\/Community-Garden.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Harrison, Robert Pogue. <\/span>Gardens: an Essay on the Human Condition<\/span><\/i>. University of\u00a0 <\/span>Chicago Press, 2008.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Soga, Masashi, et al. \u201cGardening Is Beneficial for Health: A Meta-Analysis.\u201d <\/span>Preventive\u00a0<\/span><\/i>Medicine Reports<\/span><\/i>, Elsevier, 14 Nov. 2016.\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 www.sciencedirect.com\/science\/article\/pii\/S2211335516301401.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

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Through this uplifting and introspective piece, Sarah Waring reflects on the unique relationship between humans and the natural world in Bauer Park (Madison, Connecticut). Waring endearingly describes Bauer Park as an \u201cimpressionist painting\u201d with incredible diversity in structure and plant life. In doing so, she continues to address the connection between living and inanimate components […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":231,"featured_media":486,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[3,22],"class_list":["post-479","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-issue-2","tag-food-writing","tag-horticulture"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/368\/2021\/08\/fence.jpg","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/479","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/231"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=479"}],"version-history":[{"count":13,"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/479\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":732,"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/479\/revisions\/732"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/486"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=479"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=479"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/sites.smith.edu\/smithwrites\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=479"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}