The Gardner Brings a Gift

"Danny, I need to talk to you."

I had called him after I settled down.  "What we goin to do?" He asked me in his broken English.

"Nothing, I just need to talk to you." I wanted to remain nuetral, give myself plenty of time to think.

This morning as the vet was driving away, yes he came to my house,  Danny knocked at the door and I went outside.  "Hi Danny,"

"I brought you..." and he pointed down at the ground where two huge buckets of vegtables  were.

"Wow, what's that Danny?"

"I brought for you. Pepper and stuff you like."

I saw that it was a bucket of romaine lettuce and a bell peppers. "Wow Danny." I really was touched.  He was smiling ear to ear and I reached out and gave him a hug.  His skin was moist and cool. He had just come from across the street where he also took care of someone else's yard.


Yesterday I had talked to him and showed him how he had mowed down the garden.  He kept saying, "We don't have that in the Philipines."

It's amazing how things can change in such a short time.

Goodness has spread throughout my life today and I'm so grateful to all the people who helped me process this.  I acted from the heart, rather than from the hip and the results were astonishing.

The Garden and Cultural Connections

      Yesterday I came home and found that my whole garden had been flattened.  The tiny arugula leaves were butchered.  The snow peas; decimated. The mint; pulverized. The squash, gone. I had planted each seed and with each bit of soil that embedded itself into my fingernails, I grew. The little plants were fragile and so was I.  And each time I went outside, I knew it was going to be okay. The plants grew and I grew here and we were connected; Here.

What Happened?

Please raise your hand if you know what haolie is.  What about pakalolo? Okay, how about pinche? Or, saranghaeyo?

Haole is a Hawaiian word that refers to anybody that is not a native.

Pakalolo is the Hawaiian word for pot.

Pinche is spanish for the "f" word.

Saranghaeyo is "I love you" in Korean.

Lo tso is the Navajo word for shark.


I have heard that when the American Natives were moved from their homes that their language was so embedded in the landscape and weather patterns, that they lost a good portion of their language and how they communicated.  If anybody has a story about this, I'd really love to hear and learn more.

When I heard that story, I realized that my cultural ques are missing.  Perhaps the yardman who chopped down the garden has lost his connection.  Why should I think that the mint is valuable, maybe he doesn't and was preforming a loving act in my benefit.

Sometimes it works the other way around.  We take our language and cultural ques and impose them.  I'm teaching a young Japanese woman how to speak English.  We've become comfortable with each other, enough so that she cried when she told me that the name they put on her passport isn't her name.  She asked me if she should change her name. She tried to show me how to pronounce her name and I had difficulty.

Yesterday at my writers group, I noticed that many writers use words such as "haole" and other Hawaiian terms that no one else would know if they didn't live here.  They took it for granted that their language was every one's language.


My yardman is in a lot of trouble.  I loved that garden and my heart if broken, but I also know that he, in his heart, was doing his job.  Now we just need to communicate.