“Bed springs,” I would have texted. Just that.
And my friend Bob would have replied, “Bed springs?”
And then I would have added, “The refugees use old bed springs as fences around their gardens at the Jolly Avenue Community Garden in Clarkston. Imagine what is possible.”
And he would have answered, “Well, they ARE garden beds!”
And lord only knows what we would have done next with that info. Maybe a demonstration bed. Maybe a whole new community garden. Maybe we just would have gone there and helped, and learned more about the various ways people from all over the world make due to provide for their families, like when we learned about using bamboo from the Bhutanese farmers years ago, or that time we drove all the way out to that farm for incarcerated young men (I was on assignment for this article).
I miss him. I miss the positive energy that happened between us when we got the seed of an idea, rather than the constant soul-crushing reasons why we can’t do something that I hear from so many other people.
And so today, in honor of my friend Bob, I will ride my bike with the trailer attached to a stand of bamboo. I will use my saw and chop some poles down and build a structure for beans in my sharing and side gardens, like so many previous years:
And I will keep an eye out on garbage day for bed springs.