Monday, September 20, 2004

When the revolution comes finally, in whatever form it takes there are a couple of things i want. i want a garden; a backyard garden. i want to grow tomatoes and sunflowers and corn and peas. i also want hibiscuses (hibisci? - whatever); but that would mean the revolution would have to take place for me in a slightly more tropical climate. hibiscuses need a little more room than is generally available in a new york city backyard anyway, so i might have to expand possible revolution locations (i'd also be willing to grow squash and the like). as a child i remember all sorts of things growing out of the gravel and red dirt that was my backyard. there was one time we had planned to pave over the backyard, and make a carport. Gravel and sand had been brought to begin the job, but the plan never came to fruition so it just ended up over time being spread over the yard. eventually these things all flourished their way up through the mound of gravel: sorrell, papaya, passion fruit, pigeon peas. in other parts of the yard there were mango trees, an avocado tree, a lime tree and sugar cane. cilantro grew wild everywhere as well as an assortment of wild teas, that grew all year round. recently i've wanted to grow things again, and i have no idea what that's about. maybe it's some sort of nesting instinct. maybe i'm hungry. maybe i miss being 5 or 6 or 7 again; and somehow i feel like this will help. i'm not sure but i want to turn the earth. i want to be bareback in the sun and fork the earth up, while the sweat runs off my neck and into the pockets i make in the ground. i want to put seeds in the earth and cover them over, water them and for a few moments wait, like i expect flowers and fruit to come up out of the ground right then. i want to chuckle at myself then and retire to the edge of the plot, marked out in neat rows which i have to label for the first few weeks to know where i've planted what. i want to wash and dry the hoe off (because this is what my grandfather would have done - so that the hoe wouldn't rust) and then open a beer (my grandfather would not have done this), sit back and feel the movement beneath the surface, feel the growing and know for sure that the rumbling in the soil was mine and that for once all my efforts to change the world had come to something , and that i'd managed it in the most elemental way any of us ever has; with my own bare hands.


Anonymous Anonymous said...


(with twinkles in my eyes)


9:11 PM  

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