Four years ago when we were building our house I planted asparagus. The plumbing wasn’t in yet. The electric wasn’t in yet. But I convinced Aidan that the most important thing for us to do was to build two contained beds in which to plant asparagus.
I’d never planted asparagus before. The first year, asparagus tips emerge and the enthusiastic gardener must summon all of their strength to leave them be. No harvesting in year one. Strength must go ointo the root system. Year two, allows for 25% of the yield to be harvest, year three 50% and finally, eating at will. I stood on the muddy hill in front of the shell of a house and imagined myself eating asparagus straight out of the garden one day. Today I’m eating asparagus.
That first planting was a commitment to staying in this one place for at least four years. I’d never made that commitment before. I was commiting not only to a house, but to this small street. Which meant I had to decide to get to know my neighbors. This had always been an easy thing, but now it was a more difficult commitment. When I get home from six weeks on the road I don’t want to see anyone. Ever again. Usually by the time that feeling passes we are loading the car again. But now, we would arrive home, and check in, ask after, engage in social conversation. Four years in I can report that that phrase “by the time that feeling passes” is self-fulfilling mythology. The longer one waits to re-engage in community, the longer it takes for that feeling to pass. A couple days of self-care before diving back in is really much easier in the long run.
Planting asparagus also meant commiting to my town. It meant having a beer at the local brewery, eating at the local cafe, and buying a book from the local book shop. Those things are completely and totally enjoyable, but I had always let them happen. Or not. Often a couple of weeks would go by before I supported my community. I have great excuses for letting that happen. Town isn’t really nearby, its a fifteen minute drive. That’s real time and fossil fuel I save by staying home. And dollars, hard earned folk musician dollars, are saved by eating and drinking at home. But the asparagus had been planted, the commitment made. So off to town we went. By design.
We sought out people and places that we liked and cared about, we participated, good grief we even joined a civic group and we show up at meetings once in a while. We decided that there was tangible value to be a part of this community. And so we budgeted in the time and resources, with intent. Fours years in I can report that the value of my community outweighs the dollars, and in fact it really didn’t cost more dollars.
Maybe you aren’t a gardener. Maybe you don’t have space for asparagus. Maybe (gasp) you don’t even like asparagus. But you should plant some, theoretically. Stand on your muddy hillside and imagine what it could be in four years. Commit to it without immediate reward. Decide that it matters.