The Community Garden

When Priya signed up for a plot in the community garden behind the library in Halifax, she imagined quiet evenings among tomatoes and herbs. What she hadn't imagined was Frank. Frank had been gardening there for twenty years, and he had opinions about everything: how deep to plant potatoes, when to water, and, above all, how newcomers should behave. On her first weekend, he informed her that her beans were too close together and that nobody had ever grown peppers successfully in that corner. Priya smiled politely and kept planting, but she went home irritated. For weeks, they barely spoke. Frank would glance at her plot and shake his head; Priya would pretend not to notice. Then, in July, a heat wave hit the city. For ten days, temperatures stayed above thirty degrees, and the garden began to suffer. Priya, who had grown up in Pune, knew exactly what to do. She covered the soil with straw to keep in moisture, watered early in the morning instead of at noon, and set up old bedsheets to give the plants some shade. One evening, she noticed that Frank's tomato plants were drooping badly. He hadn't been at the garden for three days. Without thinking twice, she watered them and spread straw around their roots. The following Saturday, Frank appeared at her plot holding a jar of homemade pickles. He cleared his throat. "My knee's been acting up," he said. "Someone saved my tomatoes. I suspect it was you." Priya admitted it was. After a long pause, he said, "Your peppers look better than mine ever did." By September, they were sharing tools, seeds and, eventually, recipes. Frank still had opinions about everything, but now he usually asked for hers first.