This first entry into the "Voices From The Valley" section of the web site is from the "Garden Beautiful" category.  It is a beautiful homage to one of the volunteers of the garden who has now passed and was written by Ms. Gertrude Rainey, the tireless leader of the Garden Beautiful.

             I remember one event which was truly bizarre; yet, it comes to mind each time I enter the garden.  Perhaps, this was Calvin's way of being remembered by his fellow gardeners.

             To begin with, Calvin was the neighborhood mechanic, a small man in stature, with a heart as big as all outdoors. He joined me in the garden, and worked diligently, always planting, weeding, and choosing his small talk with wisdom, just to make me laugh.

             One day I asked him what were the strange plants growing in one of his boxes? The plants were almost two feet tall, and he seemed to take extra special care of them. Calvin looked at me with a whimsical smile (which he was exceptionally good at) and in a dry, yet humorous voice, said: "When you see the first flowers, you will know what I planted, after all, you are from the south too, and we never forget what we learned on the farm."

             Needless to say, I was aghast at his statement, couldn't he tell I was not a farmer? I distinctly remember telling him I was born in Miami Florida and my mother was not allowed to have a garden in her backyard.

             Seemingly, Calvin could care less, because he did not divulge his secret, furthermore, he began playing games, and giving me hints as to what the plants were.

             Of course, I was not one to be outsmarted by "a country boy", (as he often called himself) Hence, I did some research in my library, and the next time Calvin came, I immediately told him he had planted okra, and I was so proud of what I thought I had discovered.

             Well, Calvin gave me a solemn look of disbelief, as he nonchalantly replied: "You don't eat it, but it is one of life's necessities."  Frankly, I wanted to bury him in the hole he was digging.

             Moreover, my curiosity had overwhelmed me, suspicion had started to enter my mind, and my embarrassment led me to consult Lydia, another worker, who was also an experienced farmer.

             Lydia examined the plants, then she began to laugh uncontrollably. Meanwhile, the suspense was taking it's toll on me. I began to jump up and down, and at the same time ask repeatedly: " What is it; What is it?" Lydia then blurted, in between laughter, that Calvin had planted cotton.

             It was with perplexed relief that I joined Lydia on the ground, laughing, pointing, and practically shouting the fact that: "cotton grows in Harlem."

             When Calvin came back again, the cotton had blossomed, and the patch was indeed a sight to behold. I asked him what prompted him to plant cotton? He said: I feel like I'm back home, and I just wanted to prove that I can do it.

             However, I detected the sadness in his voice as he spoke, and it is my belief that Calvin missed his farm life. Quite often, he would reveal some of his happy moments, and I must admit, sometimes I actually felt something was missing in my life.

             Meanwhile the cotton bloomed, and the white patch displayed an array of beauty which to me was mind boggling Naturally, the skeptics came to investigate our claim, and they seemed just as awed and amazed as I was. Some of them wanted to show their experience for picking balls, however, Calvin and Lydia had made their plans to personally teach me the art of cropping cotton.

            Calvin passed away this summer, and although his absence leaves a void in the community, the void is somehow filled, when we remember the joy of the feat he performed.

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ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Cotton's Journey -- The Story of Cotton
http://www.cottonsjourney.com/Storyofcotton/default.asp

Images are Courtesy of:

• USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service
• Library Of Congress
• Smithsonian Historical Instutute