1 Garden Refugees

Clare and Dante—January

 

“ The answer is: add organic matter .” He paused for emphasis, “ It doesn ’ t matter what the question is. ”

Clare surveyed the crowded classroom. Like her, everyone here was a refugee intending to return home after completion of the training. The man in front, clad in black boots, black jeans, a long black trench coat, and topped with a black fedora, was Professor Monroe Cassidy. He was one of many in a group known as Garden Guardians. His passion for soil and planting seeds was contagious and energizing. Recalling her life back home, Clare thought about the kids whose lives revolved around the virtual reality of the latest Monitor games and shows — it was all so inconsequential. She smiled, thinking about her new life here.

“ You, ” called Monroe, looking straight at Clare . “ D o you know the answer? ”

The smile slipped off Clare’s face like rain down a window. In her daydreaming, she had missed the question. She looked down, searching her notes, grasping for anything.

“ Add organic matter? ” she tried, spying a scribbled notation.

Professor Cassidy grinned. “ Add organic matter, ” he repeated, gaining momentum. “ Class, everyone, ” he called as his hands conducted them like a choir director.

“ Add organic matter, ” rose the myriad voices.

 

Back at their new home, Clare and Dante lounged on the sofa studying the day ’ s material. Getting here had been a long journey, but they had succeeded; they had reached their Garden of Eden. The children had ridden their bikes more than 600 kilometers crossing an international border into a country whose food laws differed dramatically from their own.

It had been mid-August when they first arrived, prime harvest time. Their rescuers, a family called Pierce, had housed them for five days before they were transferred to orientation and later to live with sponsors. Because many people in this part of Canada spoke French, the QFA (Quebec Farmers ’ Association) had set them up with an English-speaking couple. The Woods, who could trace their ancestry back to the eighteenth century, were apple farmers, selling from a roadside stand and at local farmers ’ markets. They had five grown children with families of their own. Mrs. Wood had never adjusted to the smaller household, still planting a vegetable garden to feed crowds and cooking oversized meals. So whenever underaged refugees needed a home, theirs was open.

Those earliest days of the children ’ s arrival had passed in a blur for Clare and Dante. Every day had been busily spent harvesting apples from the farm and produce from the garden.

Mrs. Wood, Marissa, taught them about each vegetable — carrots, tomatoes, sweet corn, potatoes, green beans. Together t hey accomplished the difficult job of canning: snipping and snapping the beans, filling the glass jars, heating up the kitchen with the hot water baths and pressure canning. They learned about dehydration, expectantly watch ing juicy tomatoes shrivel and shrink becoming like Sweeties as they dried on screens under the summer sun. The fat, round onions were yanked from the soil and left to lie until dr y , then braided and hung in kitchen corners or from attic rafters.

Mr. Wood , Joh n, showed Clare how to carefully pick and sort the apples for market. She learned the names of the many varieties and how to help customers choose the best kinds for pies, preserves, and sauce. Dante ’ s task was to shine the apples until they sparkled and winked at unsuspecting customers.

H arvesting had lasted well into October . T hen winter moved in overnight like houseguests for whom you have been preparing but aren ’ t quite ready for when they finally arrive. The children welcomed winter ’ s respite from the busy li ves they had fallen into.

Much to their relief, Clare and Dante learned soon after arriving that Ana’ s disappearance had not been due to GRIM, although later she had been raided and threatened. They also learned and were comforted to know that their mother had been alerted of their status, and they ’ d soon be able to communicate with he r . Unfortunately, the good news was marred with bad news: their friend Lily had left town, and no one knew where she was.

And now it was January—time for the annual Garden Guardian class. The Garden Guardian program, sponsored by u niversities and supported by volunteers, had begun a hundred years ago to a ssist in educating the public i n home gardening and horticulture. In the latter half of the 2050s, the Guardians expanded their reach to host special classes for “ gardening refugees ” whose numbers slipping over the border had increased e ach year. Most refug ees , like Clare and Dante, came on their own having heard rumors of real food but kn owing little about gardening. Others had been sponsored and helped into the cou ntry by Seed Savers for the purpose of advanced training, to later be sent back as leaders.

Clare and Dante attended half-day gardening classes three days a week and classes for their regular school requirements the rest of the time. They were provided mini-Monitors loaded with information on the subjects they would be studying . There were twenty-five chapters, starting with botany and covering topics like seed saving, preserving, composting, pruning, pest management, and the history of food politics and policies.

 

“Don ’ t you just love P rofessor Cassidy? ” Clare asked as she pulled the quilted com forter closer to her body . “ I never thought any one could be so excited about dirt. ”

“ Soil,” Dante corrected. “ Remember, dirt is when soil is out of place. Like that smudge on your face during class, ” he teased.

During class each person had gotten a chance to examine—look at, feel, smell, even taste—the three types of soil: silt, sand, and clay, and a variety of combinations. The soil samples were mixed with water—mud, basically—and it was messy. Clare ended up with some on her face, and Professor Cassidy had used her as an example in defining soil versus dirt. She turned a shade of pink as Dante reminded her.

“ Dan — te. ”

“ Yeah, you ’ re right, ” he said, ignoring her irritation at him. “ The way Professor Cassidy talks about soil would convince anyone it ’ s the greatest thing on the planet. He loves it so much he should marry it! ”

Clare rolled her eyes. Hanging out with an eight-year-old sometimes got old, but she loved her brother. She shook her head. “ Oh brother, Dante. ”

“ Yep, that ’s me —your brother. ”