Adventures In Leafdom, Part One: Stranger in a Strange Land

Two dumptruck loads of leaves in the driveway. Me, wondering as I do each year, how it will all be moved. They are the first of a total of 5-6 loads I will take, clearing two at a time until all of them mulch my garden beds and paths. This year, two neighbors also ordered leaves for me to mulch the beds I've cultivated in their yards. My work cut out for me.

At almost 10:30 a.m., I headed out with a pitchfork and a song. It was almost noon when Sam decided to put on his cowboy boots and come help me. I asked if he thought we could clear half by the end of the day. He made it a goal. Trinidad joined us a bit later and decided that the whole pile should be gone by then. Okay!

Friends arrived to drop off a garlic press we'd left behind shortly after noon. As we chatted for a moment, a black man rode by on his bike. I smiled at him, as I do at all of the neighbors I know and haven't met. He stopped his bike and spun around.

"I haven't ever seen a smile like that!" he said. "I've gotta' talk to you."

"I've got guests at the moment. Can you come back in ten minutes?"

"You bet!" he said, and wheeled away.

Half an hour later, he returned, and Trinidad and I were prepared to give this high energy man some empathy. He told us he'd just been chased out of the DariMart parking lot by the cops who couldn't understand his intense disparity about the economy. They thought he was "attacking."

He told me he needed to buy an RV for $500 or less. I thought to myself that I might know someone who was selling (in wonder at the potential serendipity), but I waited to hear more of his story.

O-- hailed from a big city back east, where he had earned a great deal of money in his work dealing drugs. He'd gotten tired of being shot at and seeing friends and family jailed, so he moved west with his girlfriend and became a Rastifarian. Needing to pay the bills and visit his girlfriend's family, they headed to Oregon where she now lives with her family and their 2 year old son. O just got out of a community college. He is homeless and looking to build trust and find work in our community.

Trinidad went to heat up some leftovers for his lunch while I spoke with him about the friend with a potential leaky RV. I decided to call on it right away, and it did appear to be available. I put phone in O's hand and made an informal introduction.

Something funny happened at that juncture. This civilized but intense young man who had been telling me his heartfelt story with eloquence suddenly shifted into a different persona as he "met" the man who might help him.

"Wha'sup?" he said in a deep voice, head cocked. Pause. (I imagined the man on the other end meeting him with some bewilderment in a proper British accent.)

"This's O--!" said my new friend. Guessing that the RV owner was still confused on his end, I heard O-- repeat his name. At this point, I left them and returned, grinning, to my leaves.

The boys and I continued our work and O-- tried to help after making plans to see the RV within 24 hours. He took our half-filled barrows and dumped them with vigor until we all began making strong requests that he let us fill them, first. He liked to keep things moving.

Before he left, I sang him a song I wrote and called "My White Girl Spiritual." He laughed at the name and listened. As I sang with my heart full on, he turned away and bowed his head in the spirit of my words and tone. It is a song of struggle and repentence, a song of longing and acceptance. I wish I could find a way to put it on the blog. At the end, he said, "Well. Now I didn't think you would do that. You are not your average Wh--" he stopped.

"White girl?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "But I knew that when you told me to come back in ten minutes. You are a blessing."

"You are a blessing to me," I said. "It is tragedy to have a gift to give, a song to sing, a smile to share and no one to share them with. Your receiving is a gift to me."

He looked at me long. "White and black," he said.

"We both have to give and receive to build this bridge. I thank you for coming by, neighbor."