Most of us take fresh vegetables for granted. I did. Whenever I wanted to, I\u2019d drive to the grocery store and load my cart with broccoli, asparagus, zucchini and lettuce. For me, a vegetarian, that produce section was my favorite.<\/p>\n
When I moved to Champaign, Illinois, to open a dress shop, I figured that\u2019s how most everyone bought their groceries, even in the poorer parts of town. If someone had told me my neighborhood was a food desert, an area where fresh, healthy foods are not available, I would have thought they just needed directions to the supermarket.<\/p>\n
My shop was downtown, on a footpath that ran between a middle school and my church. My focus was on improving my business, so I could donate more to my church\u2019s ministries. I thought that was the best way for me to live out my faith.<\/p>\n
BROWSE OUR BOOKS ON CHRISTIAN LIVING<\/strong><\/em><\/a><\/p>\n I\u2019d grown up in Chicago, raised by my parents to be self-sufficient. They had eight other kids and ran their own businesses from our home. Everyone pitched in. Mom taught me to sew. By the time I was nine, I was sewing Barbie clothes and selling them on the school playground.<\/p>\n In my thirties, I divorced, and returned with my daughter to the Chicago area. In my forties, I left a job in restaurant management and expanded my part-time home-based sewing business to full-time. Then I felt I was ready for a commercial space.<\/p>\n My sister in Champaign found the perfect spot. I opened my shop, Motherland Fashion Design, specializing in clothing made from African fabrics. It had a big display window. People took notice and it did well. I felt blessed.<\/p>\n One afternoon, a girl came into the shop and asked for a drink. She\u2019d spied my water cooler through the window on her way home from the middle school. I was happy to oblige. The next day she stopped by again, with a friend.<\/p>\n Soon half a dozen kids were coming by nearly every day. I loved their energy, how curious they were about a loom I had, about sewing. I made space in the back of the shop so they could work on their homework. The girls asked if they could dress the mannequins in the display window. Why not? It wasn\u2019t my favorite task.<\/p>\n I helped them with their schoolwork. I taught them how to warp the loom, using the math formulas they were learning in school. I told them stories about our African heritage. We even put on fashion shows. I called the group the Culture Club.<\/p>\n They needed more than water after school. I gave them healthy snacks. PB and J sandwiches, oranges and apples. One day I put out a bowl of fresh sugar snap peas.<\/p>\n READ MORE: HOW VOLUNTEERING ADDS LIFE TO YOUR YEARS<\/strong><\/em><\/a><\/p>\n \u201cWhat are those?\u201d a girl asked. The kids stared at the bowl as if it was full of scorpions.<\/p>\n \u201cHaven\u2019t you ever eaten fresh peas before?\u201d I said. I showed them how to open the shell. \u201cHere, try them.\u201d<\/p>\n The girl wrinkled her nose. \u201cPeas come out of a can.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay,\u201d I said. \u201cBut where do they come from before that?\u201d<\/p>\n The kids exchanged glances. \u201cThe grocery store?\u201d<\/p>\n I persuaded them to eat just one pea each. Seconds later, the bowl was empty.<\/p>\n I wanted the kids to know where vegetables really came from. Their parents let me take them to the grocery store. That\u2019s when I discovered that some of them had never been there before. Their families didn\u2019t own cars. Buses didn\u2019t go there from our neighborhood. For groceries they walked to a gas-station convenience store. Slim pickings there.<\/p>\n I asked for the produce manager. \u201cCan you show us where you make the peas?\u201d<\/p>\n He looked puzzled. \u201cMa\u2019am, we just sell them,\u201d he said. \u201cThey\u2019re grown on a farm, then another company packages them.\u201d<\/p>\n The kids and I checked out the produce section. But I knew I couldn\u2019t leave the lesson there. These kids needed to understand how fresh vegetables are grown. There was just one problem. I was city born and raised. Planting a garden? I didn\u2019t know the first thing about it.<\/p>\n Still, I\u2019d seen containers for growing sprouts. I bought some, along with packets of alfalfa, bean and radish seeds. We followed the instructions and in days we had our first harvest. We ate the sprouts atop toasted baguettes with garlic butter. The kids loved it.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s like free food!\u201d they exclaimed.<\/p>\n I bought more veggies for afterschool snacks. I drove families to the grocery store. When I was a child, anytime I complained about something unfair, my mother would say, \u201cWhat are you <\/em>doing?\u201d It felt good, doing something to make a difference. Even something small.<\/p>\n In 2003, I learned that a graduate student at the University of Illinois was starting a community garden in my neighborhood as a research project\u2014eight 16-foot-by-16-foot beds on Champaign Unit 4 School District property.<\/p>\n I still didn\u2019t know anything about gardening. I wasn\u2019t sure I wanted to give up much more of my sewing time. But I had to try for the kids. I called and got one of the garden beds. Then I went to garage sales and bought shovels, hoes and stakes. For the younger children I got beach buckets and toy shovels.<\/p>\n The garden was near my church, and my pastor agreed to let us store our tools there. At a pawnshop I found a golf bag with wheels, perfect for hauling our equipment.<\/p>\n That first year we grew 16 tomato and jalape\u00f1o-pepper plants from seed. When the grad student graduated, a master gardener became steward of the garden. She showed us how to plant, mulch, water and care for our bed. Daily, we trooped down to tend our garden. When green shoots emerged, we were thrilled. However, they didn\u2019t look like the photos on the seed packets.<\/p>\n I found a book at the library called Edible Plants of the Midwest. <\/em>That\u2019s how we learned that the dandelion greens and lamb\u2019s-quarters we\u2019d thought were weeds were edible. We saut\u00e9ed them in olive oil and garlic. Yum! The kids couldn\u2019t wait for more \u201cweeds\u201d to grow.<\/p>\n One morning, from across the garden bed, I heard a scream: \u201cIt\u2019s a pepper! We grew a real pepper!\u201d<\/p>\n The kids and I formed a conga line and did a victory dance around the garden. With a tomato from the grocery (our plants hadn\u2019t produced any yet), we made salsa. One bite and it was clear this was no ordinary pepper. There was something magical about eating food we\u2019d grown ourselves. The taste. The sense of accomplishment. The sheer joy on the kids\u2019 faces. This was a seed only God could have planted.<\/p>\n READ MORE: 5 CHEAP WAYS TO LEARN A NEW LANGUAGE<\/strong><\/em><\/a><\/p>\n By summer\u2019s end we had so many tomatoes we sold them to people in the neighborhood. I helped the kids create a business plan, figuring out what our expenses would be for the next year. The remaining profit they split.<\/p>\n The next year we plotted out every inch of our garden bed, adding mint, zucchini, cucumber, cilantro and collards. Parents asked how their kids could get involved. I loved seeing what the garden did for the children. And I enjoyed it as much as they did. But I couldn\u2019t help but notice that several of the plots had been abandoned.<\/p>\n That winter I got a call from our master gardener. \u201cWe\u2019re closing the garden,\u201d she said. \u201cThere just isn\u2019t enough interest.\u201d<\/p>\n How was I going to tell the kids we were through? My mother\u2019s words came back to me: What are <\/em>you doing? <\/em>I called my pastor. Could we grow vegetables on the church lawn? He was sympathetic, but no. There was only one other option. I dialed the number for the school district\u2019s facility manager.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat would have to happen for someone to take over the garden?\u201d I asked him.<\/p>\n \u201cThere are expenses to cover,\u201d he said, \u201cbut mainly someone needs to be in charge. A person I can yell at if anything goes wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n In my mind the list of things that could go wrong seemed endless. \u201cLord, help me,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019ll do it.\u201d<\/p>\n That summer of 2006, it was mostly the kids and me. We changed the name to the Randolph Street Community Garden. There weren\u2019t a lot of rules. A few people from the neighborhood saw the garden growing and asked how they could get a plot. Under the old management, there was a firm deadline to sign up. Now anytime was gardening time.<\/p>\n READ MORE: FRIENDS START A NATIONWIDE MARCH TO BETTER HEALTH<\/strong><\/em><\/a><\/p>\n I quickly exhausted my knowledge. That is when Charlie Doty, the liaison for the Washington Square Senior Citizen Building, rode into the garden on a power chair. He put me in touch with people in that building. One of them was a 93-year-old, Ms. Effie. Daily, she patiently taught me to garden. Word got around. At least half a dozen seniors wanted beds too!<\/p>\n By our second year, we had 60 garden beds. The number of children had more than tripled. I gave kids over 12 years old their own plot. But the expenses, for wood, mulch and tools, were more than Charlie and I could cover. I learned that some families were buying seeds and plants with their food-assistance cards and fasting one meal to do so. Community members stepped in with small donations.<\/p>\n I\u2019d closed my shop, doing specialty sewing and alterations in the evenings from studio space. I took a job working nights for FedEx. The money I earned there became the budget for the garden. The Church of the Brethren\u2019s garden ministry gave its support. Other faith organizations stepped up too.<\/p>\n One day I drove by on my way to an appointment. In the garden, vibrant green plants stretched across our three quarters of an acre. Food wasn\u2019t all that was being grown. There was a buzz of activity, people tending plots, others lining up to buy fresh produce. A farm had sprung up in the middle of a food desert. Friendship was being grown too.<\/p>\n I was working a lot of hours. Yet I was never tired and I\u2019d never felt more alive. I sprang out of bed in the morning, eager to take on the day. I wasn\u2019t just the steward of the community garden. I grew a special \u201cgleaners bed,\u201d where people who needed food could come pick the vegetables. Every chance I got, I worked the rich earth myself. It was healing. Reviving. This was what it felt like to live out my faith.<\/p>\n Nine years later, the garden is a vital part of the community. Last year, we had more than 300 children and 150 adults gardening. More than 1,800 people bought or received fresh produce. People of many faiths and backgrounds (eight different languages) garden together.<\/p>\n When people come to the church food pantry, we give them shelf and freezer items and then take them to the garden for fresh produce. Their eyes light up when they see the tomatoes, collards and okra. They are excited to find they can also grow their own. <\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m 64 now, and while an on-the-job injury has helped me learn to delegate the heavy work, I\u2019m not slowing down. In fact, the garden recently put up a GoFundMe page to raise money for an expansion. Growing vegetables keeps me young. But it\u2019s helping others that feeds my soul.<\/p>\n Did you enjoy this story? Subscribe to <\/em>Guideposts<\/strong><\/a> magazine<\/em>.<\/p>\n