broccoli, bryant street, and miracles

Tricia is the most amazing person when it comes to starting projects in our community. Whether it's a rummage sale for Haiti or composting or our beautiful garden. She also happens to be the most amazing person when it comes to conning me into supporting her projects.

Particularly the garden.

With it's broccoli, rosemary, raspberries, perennials, and compost box, our garden has become the most beautiful place in the world.

I never knew that coming home from work and noticing how much taller the broccoli plants are would bring so much joy to my heart.

I also didn't know that our garden would be the means to foster relationships with our neighbors on Bryant Street (a random assortment of life-long DC residents, world bank employees, young families with small children, Capitol interns, drug dealers, former non-profit directors, and Howard University students.)

I didn't know that Paul, our next door neighbor who is sometimes outside at 7:45 in the morning drinking a 40, would diligently water our garden because we don't have a hose. (Part of the reason I became a Redskins fan is so that I always have something to talk to Paul about. Yesterday, he called me "shorty." I think that means we've bonded.)

I didn't know that Frankie Dye (self-described, "Dye, as in, to impregnate with color")would wander out of his house while Tricia and I were planting to come over and weed with us.

I didn't know that Rick and Paul (who each live on opposite sides of our house, and also happen to play this game where they call for eachother whenever pretty girls walk down the street)would feel compelled to sit on our front steps and give Tricia and I a lesson in theology.

I didn't know that Frankie was paying attention to what I was saying while he was weeding and I mentioned that I worked at SOME.

I definitely didn't know that one afternoon he would come knocking on my front door and ask me to come over to his house to talk to a woman who's been sleeping on his couch about getting connected to the services at SOME.

I often feel incompetent at work. Underqualified and inexperienced. This woman, who I was supposed to be helping, actually ended up helping me.

After listening to this woman's story and giving her my contact information at work, I realized that I AM underqualified and inexperienced, but I'm NOT incompetent.

She talked and I listened.

She cried.

Then, she gave me a hug.

I didn't really help her at all.

She helped me recognize my own competence.

All because of Tricia's projects, and our beautiful, life-giving graden.