Au Contraire: How does our community garden grow?

A city planner recently told me the majority of Americans would be living in communal settings within the next quarter century. He explained that as our resources dwindle we’d have to pool and share our homes, cars, water, food, etc. in order to make ends meet.

The idea of living in a commune might scare a few (just the word raises some people’s hackles). We Americans are a fiercely independent lot who pride ourselves in being self-made. The cost of living in Southern California along with the current unemployment rate often leads to adult children living with their parents. More people are car-pooling to conserve fuel. We leave our “junk” on our curbs so that our neighbors can take home a treasure. We’re planting community gardens such as the Backyard Produce Garden Project and sharing the bounty with our needier neighbors. Starbucks has even introduced the communal table in their latest round of store remodels.

Communal living is simply living in a community and we are all a part of many communities. We think of a community as a group of people living in a particular local area, like the North County community. But community can also mean a group of people with common interests. For instance, my Tri-n-for-Chelsea Team is a group of moms who have a common interest in supporting Chelsea’s Light Foundation. The parishioners of St. Gabriel’s are members of a small community who belong to a larger community — the Catholic church. In biological terms, a community is a group of interacting organisms sharing an environment. My son’s dorm floor is a community, as is his college.

My own definition of community is “shared experience,” as my 30th high school reunion this summer reminded me. By virtue of our shared experience as teens, we are still a community. Last weekend I went to a friend’s vineyard to help harvest 10,000 pounds of grapes. In so doing, I “joined” a community of 50 or so other grape pickers. We communed with nature, and one another over the vines and under the sun.

I also think of my fellow community members as people who “have my back.” As a community, we had Brent and Kelly King’s back when Chelsea went missing. In the tradition of raising barns and sowing fields shoulder to shoulder, we help neighbors sand bag their properties during the rains and water their roofs during the fires. Sure we are individualists, yet we are also our brothers’ keeper. We share our resources (time, money, casseroles, etc), while reserving the right to hole up in our 3,000-square-foot, four-car garage homes.

That’s why the renewed backlash against panhandlers in our community has me puzzled. Police here are ticketing the homeless — as if that will somehow help them find shelter or counseling. Some turn a blind eye to the “problem” of mental illness, substance abuse, and homelessness and would have panhandlers move their shopping cart on down the road. “It’s not our problem, let it blemish someone else’s community.”

We ignore or, worse, banish a member of our community at our own peril. It’s like ignoring global warming, or a cancer. Homelessness shares our stage and it’s not likely to be whisked — or wished — away. When you offer your spare change, the sleeping bag gathering dust in the garage, the leftovers in your refrigerator, do not think of these as crumbs off our table that attract more “roaches,” rather think of them as seeds sown in our community’s garden of compassion, tolerance, and dignity.

Sandberg works in book publishing business. Reach her at sandberg8662@yahoo.com.