Justice Gardens

That’s right. Food. Beautiful food growing up from the ground. Broccoli heads starting to come forth and cabbage starting to wind tight together in the center— its big purple leaves dripping with last night’s rain. Food has never looked so good to me than when it looks at me with colors and shapes from my own backyard.

I went out this morning to clip some lettuce for my lunch today. I harvested arugula and frisee, red lettuce and buttercrunch and mixed this with some baby greens I pulled to thin out the romaine a bit. I piled it high and wanted so badly to invite someone over who has never had “spring mix” before in their lives to share it with me and my wife at our table. A quick aside: we eat on the table that my grandfather used to butcher on—don’t worry, it is clean. It has been very interesting, and telling, for me to watch my garden grow a spot inside my own soul, growing in the dirt with the rain and the sun and worm castings, while at the same time growing something too underneath my skin—a great big hospitality plant with broad leaves and I hope roots that are deeper still, though time will tell whether this great passion in me to share good food with those who don’t usually eat good food, is just a seed that springs up quickly only to later wilt in the hot sun, or it winds up being one of those things that somebody somewhere will want to talk about a generation from now like I did about canning with my grandmother.

My garden is just under 60 square feet and it will feed both my wife and I a fantastic salad for lunch today and more tomorrow. Imagine what a roof-top garden could do on the top of every flat roof in Columbus Ohio. Imagine the food we could grow if we tore down the fence between my backyard and yours and we planted a justice garden that was “30 X 50 feet or larger” (a quote from the US Government Campaign To Promote The Production, Sharing and Proper User of Food).

Victory Garden, 1943.

Justice Garden, 2009.

Sixty-Five years ago our country was short of food.  In the spring of 1943, nearly 20 million families sowed seeds and prayed for a good harvest.  They were answering a call from the US government that encouraged Americans to grow their own food during this time of crisis.  And they did.  Backyards, empty lots, and city rooftops were turned into “Victory Gardens” producing almost 10 million tons of food.   The economics of this venture resulted in the price of commercially produced fresh vegetables dropping substantially, enabling the government to save money on the food they spent feeding the troops, which bolstered the war effort, and ultimately saved lives on the front.

Today, we are on the brink of a global food crisis. The price of rice has nearly doubled in past four months. The price of a barrel of oil (which is used to transport food) has risen almost 400% in the past 7 years. If you have the time to read this, it’s likely that you won’t feel the food crisis very much.  A bit more coin in the gas tank, one less trip to Chipotle this week. No biggie. This is your privilege of being middle-class America.

But there are people who are feeling it.  People working for justice feel it. People crying out for justice feel it. People in your neighborhood and in the next neighborhood over feel it too.

Let’s plant gardens. On rooftops. In backyards. In windowsills. In schoolyards. In highway medians.  Form co-ops with your neighbors and invite people who can’t afford fresh veggies to harvest alongside of you. Send them home with an armful of organically grown fresh vegetables.  Flood food banks with fresh produce.

Work for justice in your own back yard.