And then in her dreamy vision, the birds suddenly were without feet.
Mai stood up.
She felt a growing sense of panic as she looked in all directions for her mother.
It wasn’t just the idea of the feet-less fowl that was causing her distress; she now saw sunflowers for sale in tubs in almost all of the stalls.
She hadn’t noticed them before.
Each blossom held its own unique possibility.
Willow told her that if they didn’t get their small sunflower plants at home into the ground soon they’d be stunted.
She said that they needed to put down a real root system to achieve their potential.
Don’t we all, thought Mai as she hurried toward her mother in the distance.
Don’t we all?
Chapter 48
Big news.
My binder worked, and the bank has given Dell Duke the go-ahead to do the garden conversion.
But the letter (which is from the senior vice president’s office) has additional information besides the legal permission to take up the rock pile.
Someone over there at North South Bank is on top of things, because as the letter states:
Taking the initiative to improve the property as a renter shows a commitment to the values we at North South Bank hold dear.
We have never, in the history of the bank, seen such a thorough proposal.
Therefore, Mr. Duke, in addition to granting you permission to plant a garden in the central, uncovered atrium, we have made the decision to ask you to be the Building Representative for the Gardens of Glenwood.
I don’t think anyone ever asked Dell to represent anything before.
He looks like he won the lottery.
It’s a strange combination of being wildly excited and deeply afraid.
I’m wondering now about his parents.
Maybe as a toddler he was locked in a woodshed in a cold climate for extended periods of time.
He appears to have just been let out.
Looking at him as he reads the letter a sixth time aloud, I realize he’s sort of weeping.
I assure him that being the building rep is a big honor that he richly deserves.
The next thing I know, he’s down in the garage putting a sign in front of the best parking space in the open carport.
It reads:
RESERVED FOR BUILDING REP
DELL DUKE: UNIT 28
I guess he just doesn’t get what being of service means.
Now that we have permission, the plan can be executed.
It’s Saturday, and we’re all here except Pattie, who has the most customers on the weekends.
I ask Quang-ha how he would suggest we remove the red lava rock. I’m secretly thinking he might want to get involved in all of this.
He isn’t remotely interested.
But apparently he got something out of Tom Sawyer, even if he didn’t read it or write the paper on Mark Twain.
He only says:
“Give the rock away. People love anything they think is free.”
This strikes me as accurate.
I go down the hall to discuss the idea with Dell. Sadhu is there in the living room.
He’s a lot nicer to me since I made Dell a computer. He has even asked my opinion on a few technical things.
And I’m allowed to borrow his fifteen-watt soldering gun.
When I explain to Dell that my plan is to give away the rock, Sadhu says:
“List it online. It will be gone before you know it.”
I post an offering of free red lava landscaping rock.
I say that if you can haul it away, you can have it.
Only 7 minutes later, I get my first response.
Quang-ha appears to be right.
The idea of something for nothing is appealing in some visceral way.
Even if free things are never free.
The burden of ownership means everything has a price.
I think that’s why really rich and famous people look so weighed down and glum in most photos.
They know that they have to keep their guard up. They have things other people want.
I have said that the red rock is on a first come, first serve basis.
Before I know what’s going on, I have four different people over here fighting over the stuff.
The lava rock enthusiasts scare me.
Since Dell is now the building rep, I make him go down and deal with it.
I have no idea what he says, but Mai and I hear all kinds of shouting.
The important thing is that in two hours all of the rock is gone, and so is the ripped black plastic sheeting underneath.
I said that it was also free.
We all head downstairs (even Quang-ha wants a look) and we stare at the newly exposed dirt.
What remains is only the hard-packed ground. It’s not even brown. It’s dusty gray.
Maybe the construction crew dumped a few leftover bags of concrete on their way out.
I guess everyone is thinking the same thing, but Quang-ha is always the one who gives the unspoken a voice.
He says:
“Nothing’s going to grow here.”
Pattie has just come home from work and she seems more worn out than usual. She stands with us and stares at the big rectangle of nothing. Finally she adds:
“It’s a bigger-looking space when it’s not covered with rocks.”
Dell chimes in:
“And a bigger project than anyone thought.”
Pattie sighs and starts up the stairs.
“Most things are.”
I don’t want to be crushed, but it’s possible they are talking about me, not the ugly, exposed area that is now the centerpiece of the courtyard.
Mai puts her hand on my shoulder. She says:
“Let’s go eat. Everything looks better in the daylight.”
It looks even worse in the full sun.
I go downstairs early, and it’s only me and the dirt, which I now realize has a gritty top, like someone sprinkled coarse sea salt on a gray cracker.
Even if I got everyone in this entire complex to join me here with garden tools, I don’t think we could make it happen.
Plus I’ve only seen a few of the other residents. And they don’t look like people who would want to swing a pickaxe.
Regular soil is a crazy mix of everything from fine rock fragments to water, air, insects, and even bacteria and fungi.
It’s all necessary.
I remember the first time I looked under the microscope at a pinch of the dirt from my own backyard.
It was a shocker.
Now, as I think about this open space, I know what has to be done.
Deep tilling of the soil isn’t a good idea unless you are facing the kind of ground we have here in the Gardens of Glenwood.
But this situation calls for heavy machinery.
We have to rent a Rototiller.
I can’t do this myself for all kinds of reasons, not the least of which is that you have to be eighteen years old to even legally operate the equipment.
I go back upstairs, and when Mai wakes up, I explain the situation.
She doesn’t look like she has any idea what I’m talking about, even when I clarify that a Rototiller is a machine with sharp blades that mechanically chop soil.
But she understands something, because she says:
“So we need an adult, a credit card, and a car?”
Dell wants no part of this.
Mai has done a lot of talking, but it’s the resident from unit #11 who makes the difference.
A guy named Otto Sayas—I would give anything to have a name that was a palindrome—knocks on the door.
He wants to kno
w what’s happening with the “big dirt patch in the courtyard.”
Otto Sayas doesn’t look very happy, because his unit opens right up onto the future garden site.
I’m guessing from his attitude that he didn’t have a problem with the patch of red lava rock and weeds.
Dell has to talk to the guy because he’s the building rep. I hear him explain:
“It’s all going to be planted. You’ll see. We are right in the middle of the project.”
I catch sight of Otto Sayas and he’s still scowling. He barks:
“Nothing in the world will grow there.”
Then the magical part happens, because Dell sort of puffs up and says:
“You just wait and see.”
Chapter 49
A Rototiller is like a jackhammer, but for dirt. And we get one.
Quang-ha doesn’t come to Sam’s U-Rent on Saturday because he is going bowling.
I had no idea he was a bowler.
But maybe that’s how it is with bowling. You do it and then leave it behind.
I think Dell would have liked to go bowling instead of to Sam’s U-Rent.
But he’s agreed to this.
The machine we rent requires real upper body strength to operate, especially when it is attacking hard ground.
So only Dell can use it.
Dell’s pretty doughy around the middle, and his large stomach vibrates as if it’s been put in a can and shaken at the paint store in one of those mixing machines.
But the good news is that the solid ground really gets pulverized.
The bad news is that Dell is probably going to be too sore to walk for a week.
I investigate the newly tilled soil downstairs in the future garden.
At dinner I share the good news:
“I tested the soil. And it is neutral. The pH is a perfect 7.”
Mai and Pattie and Dell look up from their food. Quang-ha keeps shoveling with his fork.
Plants (like people) thrive when there is balance.
So when the soil is too acidic, which can be thought of as sour, you should lower the pH factor.
You can do this by adding lime.
When the soil is too alkaline, which can be thought of as being too sweet, you need to add sulfur.
I explain this, but I can tell that it’s not a spellbinding discussion for the people I live with.
Dell says:
“Did you taste the soil to find out?”
I can’t tell whether Dell means this as a joke or not, but it causes Quang-ha to laugh.
I realize that whenever he laughs it’s some kind of relief.
It’s like a dam bursting.
Pattie says:
“That’s great, Willow.”
Quang-ha then mutters:
“What’s really being measured are ions of hydrogen.”
He seems as surprised as I am at his own statement. He puts more spicy sauce on his pork, looking guilty, as if learning something in science class is a crime.
Table silence.
Mai then says:
“And 7 is your favorite number, Willow.”
I don’t explain that I don’t count by 7s anymore, but I do still appreciate the beauty of the number.
I’m thinking that everyone will get more involved tomorrow when we do the planting.
And I find I’m really looking forward to that.
There was an X factor.
An unseen, or unknown, influence.
We went to sleep with a large rectangle of newly tilled, well-balanced soil in the courtyard where we live.
It was a thing of beauty.
At least to me.
But a Santa Ana wind blew in, in the middle of the night. This happens here.
Certain conditions propel a stream of dry air from the mountains to the shoreline.
We wake to a dustbowl.
I have never seen such filth.
The walls and the windows of the first-floor units are covered in a layer of newly ground dirt.
I go downstairs and I stare.
It’s as if a grime tornado hit the place.
After I show Dell, he limps to the garage and yanks down the building rep parking sign. He doesn’t want anyone to know where he lives.
Dell is so sore from his Rototiller experience that he can barely move.
Or maybe he’s just that upset about the dirt damage.
He wraps himself in a blanket, lies down on the floor of his apartment, and closes his eyes. He looks like a mummy.
I would like to take a picture, but I decide it’s not appropriate.
Mai has a plan.
She puts up a large sign downstairs. It says:
CONSTRUCTION PROJECT UNDER WAY
APOLOGIES FOR INCONVENIENCE
I feel like we should tell Dell what we’re up to, but Mai says to leave him alone.
Mai then gets her mother to drive Dell’s car to Sam’s U-Rent, where we return the Rototiller and now rent a power sprayer.
Mai and Dell have different approaches to everything in life.
Mai is the ultimate pragmatist. Maybe she gets that from her mother.
Power sprayers are powerful.
Hence the name.
I haven’t been around one until now, and so this is all new to me.
We get back to the Gardens of Glenwood and Mai goes upstairs and puts on her new (used) raincoat.
She bought the designer jacket when I got my running shoes and I thought it was a waste of money.
Now I wish I had one.
Quang-ha comes downstairs when we’re just about to get started.
Maybe because the rental equipment resembles a machine gun, he looks interested.
Quang-ha wants to try pressure spraying.
He fires up the engine and it’s as if he’s holding an Uzi. The force of the water takes a lot of strength to control.
A river of grime falls.
I watch, from a distance, and it takes some time before I realize something else is happening besides the clean-up.
The pink paint underneath the dirt is also being removed.
And so is the bumpy stucco coating.
This is all demonstrating the theory of connectedness.
Not mathematically speaking, but in a real-world way.
Removing the lava rock and black plastic liner exposed the hard-packed dirt.
Once that was tilled and the wind whipped a portion of it up onto the walls, the power sprayer was brought in, and that started to take off the deadly colored pink paint as well as the grime.
What’s underneath is a soft, natural gray.
But now we have to power spray the whole place to make it match.
Or else repaint the building.
Connectedness.
One thing leads to another.
Often in unexpected ways.
Chapter 50
We rotate.
If the sprayer is on the lowest setting, even I can manage.
Quang-ha does a huge section, pretending, I believe, that he’s in a video game.
I take my turn, but my productivity is lousy.
It’s such a struggle for me to control the nozzle that I can barely move.
I am the littlest one, but I give it everything I have. I’m pretty sure that if I hadn’t been doing my afternoon jogging, I wouldn’t have lasted for more than a minute on my feet.
We have to be very careful because the filthy water runs down the windows. So after we’ve washed an area, we then need to clean the glass. But we can’t do that with the power sprayer.
We are all now working, even Dell, when Jairo’s taxi pulls up.
I see him and Pattie talking for a while at the curb.
Someho
w, it doesn’t seem strange that his whole backseat just happens to be filled with rags and three of those squeegee things.
Jairo finds an extension ladder in the carport and he takes over the window issues.
It’s dark and we’re still at it.
Even Quang-ha hasn’t given up.
We take turns sitting on plastic milk crates and aiming flashlight beams up at the building.
A man comes out and we think he’s going to yell at us. But he’s friendly and gives us each a peppermint candy.
He even donates a poinsettia for the garden when we’re ready to plant. He’s had it for almost a year and can’t believe he’s kept it alive.
We have finished the interior courtyard walls, and now we’re working our way around the outside of the building.
We have brooms to direct the run-off, which is a big job in and of itself.
There is a pink-brown stream with stucco bits that flows from whatever area has been sprayed.
If you aren’t aiming the light, you are swooshing the water down into the drains.
Jairo has been washing windows for hours.
Quang-ha has taken control as the Most Valuable Player of apartment power spraying.
He is the only one who power sprays like an athlete.
Since I’ve never seen him do any kind of sport, and I’m skeptical about his bowling, I’m surprised.
Physical stamina is a component in leadership, even in the modern world, where it isn’t necessary to be able to harness an ox.
Because it is still impressive if you can.
As it gets really late, Dell retrieves one of his old lawn chairs from the second-floor balcony.
He starts to relax.
Or maybe the muscle pain relievers Pattie gave him kick in.
People now seem to think the garden is a good idea. It’s possible they are just thrilled to have their windows washed.
The sky is filled with stars.
More stars than I ever remember seeing, and I’ve spent a lot of time at night with my head tilted back analyzing the constellations.
Counting by 7s Page 18