Enough teasing—I will show you a picture of the Hubbell gate.
But first you must hear the story of how it came to be planted in our garden because at the end of the day, our garden is all about the stories.
It matters to me very much that gardens have a sense of place, by which I mean they sprout up in such a way that is specific to the place where they are sown. I think this is the “special sauce” of our garden. Yes, we have veggies, fruit, herbs, flowers and natives. But we also have layers upon layers of meaning every which way you turn—projects and structures and art pieces that tell stories about who we are.
From the beginning of our project, the idea of a Hubbell piece was thrown around. One obvious reason is that his work his ridiculously wonderful. But the other equally important reason is that he is our neighbor. When kids see the Hubbell gate, I want them to learn about shape and proportion and color and design. But I also want them to recognize Jim, our friend and fellow community member, who lives and works in our little town and gave our garden a big vote of confidence by choosing to place an original piece of art in it.
So all of us Garden Club folks threw the idea around for three years. Until one day Jeff Holt visited the garden on Global Youth Service Day and upon surveying the big gains the garden had recently made, casually tossed the question to me: So, what’s one of your next big dreams for the garden?
Hubbell, I blurted right out. I would love to have a Hubbell piece out here.
And in a very old-fashioned gesture, Jeff said he would “make the introduction.” He did, and I gave Jim a tour. He smiled a lot, and I think he liked what he saw. At the end of our time together, he looked at me with smiling eyes and said he’d like to contribute something. I can’t remember if I cried right then and there, but I’ll tell you I was crying on the inside. He told me to think about what the garden needed, and a few things were mentioned, like a small water feature or a sundial.
We met again a couple months later with Marisa. We got to telling stories, again. I was explaining that the junior high kids had been clamoring for a garden, having grown accustomed to having one. I mentioned the junior high kid who asked what he should do with his banana peel—after years of routinely composting his food scraps at the elementary, it seemed bizarre to start throwing it in the trash can at the junior high. So now a garden project at the junior high was getting off the ground. Jim lit up. His eyes sparkled, and he gently suggested, “Why don’t we build a gate to connect the two schools?”
See, the two schools are adjacent but are totally separated by a long, long line of chain fence on our side, and then a service road and another line of chain link. Jim suggested we connect the gardens, we connect the schools, we connect students’ learning. Then the talk turned magically philosophical—about how gates are portals to the next thing, the entrances to new beginnings, thresholds to fresh life chapters that may seem scary but are really just unknown—-much like the transition from elementary school to junior high, and of course, so much more.
Jim left, and Marisa and I cried.
And then a Julian resident, Mike Gallo, extravagantly stepped up and funded the entire project in a single swoop, in loving memory of his late wife. Jim drew a sketch and got to work with artist colleagues Bill Porter and John Wheelock. We started to tell people with excited little giggles, and they marveled with us.
The gate was on its way.
I began to write curriculum about garden gates which you can read about here. We also had students start to document the whole process, and I’ll show you their step-by-step photographs later when we celebrate the ribbon cutting.
But enough talking….take a look at this: