The Homeless Garden Project in Santa Cruz was advertising for volunteers to help with their lavender harvest. It sounded like a really good organisation, so today I went along to see if I could help.
The sky was blue as blue, and the mountains and ocean could be seen in the distance.
The farm was very impressive, immaculately laid out rows of fruit, vegetables and flowers, as if someone had listened very carefully to the man who gave the keynote speech at the garden fair. The rose delphiniums smelt particularly wonderful. There were people tilling away on different plots. In the distance, I could see the lavender bushes, with a few people standing with baskets, so I went over. I wanted to walk straight to where the volunteer co-ordinator was, but there was a problem. Every bush was covered in bees. I am a bit of a coward when it comes to bees, so was hanging back, but when the co-ordinator, Kate, gave firm instructions to a teenager in front of me, I had to be the grown up and plough ahead too. We sat on crates or old plastic garden chairs and clipped the longer, unopened flower stems, stripped the leaves off and collected them in wicker baskets. It was very convivial and we chatted away while we worked. The bees were more interested in the blooming flowers than our unopened ones, and just buzzed around. It got to the point where I hardly noticed them, and when I did, I just thought kind bee thoughts. I did sit down rather gingerly though, I didn't want any surprises there!
We all ate lunch together in a covered area between two sheds. The food was fantastic, all home grown salads and it was great to chat to everyone. I foolishly volunteered for washing up duty, and spent ages at an open air sink, but it was an open air sink in California, in the sun, so as these things go it wasn't too bad.
The day became hotter and hotter. By the time I had walked up the hill, back to my apartment, I was sorely tempted to change places with my diet coke and climb into the fridge.
I can still just about smell the lavender on my clothes, which is a lovely reminder of a very nice day.
https://www.facebook.com/HomelessGardenProject
The sky was blue as blue, and the mountains and ocean could be seen in the distance.
The farm was very impressive, immaculately laid out rows of fruit, vegetables and flowers, as if someone had listened very carefully to the man who gave the keynote speech at the garden fair. The rose delphiniums smelt particularly wonderful. There were people tilling away on different plots. In the distance, I could see the lavender bushes, with a few people standing with baskets, so I went over. I wanted to walk straight to where the volunteer co-ordinator was, but there was a problem. Every bush was covered in bees. I am a bit of a coward when it comes to bees, so was hanging back, but when the co-ordinator, Kate, gave firm instructions to a teenager in front of me, I had to be the grown up and plough ahead too. We sat on crates or old plastic garden chairs and clipped the longer, unopened flower stems, stripped the leaves off and collected them in wicker baskets. It was very convivial and we chatted away while we worked. The bees were more interested in the blooming flowers than our unopened ones, and just buzzed around. It got to the point where I hardly noticed them, and when I did, I just thought kind bee thoughts. I did sit down rather gingerly though, I didn't want any surprises there!
We all ate lunch together in a covered area between two sheds. The food was fantastic, all home grown salads and it was great to chat to everyone. I foolishly volunteered for washing up duty, and spent ages at an open air sink, but it was an open air sink in California, in the sun, so as these things go it wasn't too bad.
The day became hotter and hotter. By the time I had walked up the hill, back to my apartment, I was sorely tempted to change places with my diet coke and climb into the fridge.
I can still just about smell the lavender on my clothes, which is a lovely reminder of a very nice day.
https://www.facebook.com/HomelessGardenProject
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