Carl's
Garden
unknown
Carl
was a quiet man. He didn't talk much. He would always greet you with a
big smile and a firm handshake. Even after living in our neighborhood
for over 50 years, no one could really say they knew him very well.
Before his retirement, he took the bus to work each morning. The lone
sight of him walking down the street often worried us. He had a slight
limp from a bullet wound received in W.W.II. Watching him, we worried
that although he had survived W.W.II, he may not make it through our
changing uptown neighborhood with its ever-increasing random violence,
gangs, and drug activity.
When he saw the flyer at our local church asking for volunteers for
caring for the gardens behind the minister's residence, he responded in
his characteristically unassuming manner. Without fanfare, he just
signed up.
He was well into his 87th year when the very thing we had always feared
finally happened. He was just finishing his watering for the day when
three gang members approached him. Ignoring their attempt to intimidate
him, he simply asked, "Would you like a drink from the hose?"
The tallest and toughest-looking of the three said, "Yeah,
sure," with a malevolent little smile. As Carl offered the hose to
him, the other two grabbed Carl's arm, throwing him down. As the hose
snaked crazily over the ground, dousing everything in its way, Carl's
assailants stole his retirement watch and his wallet, and then fled.
Carl tried to get himself up, but he had been thrown down on his bad
leg. He lay there trying to gather himself as he minister came running
to help him. Although the minister had witnessed the attack from his
window, he couldn't get there fast enough to stop it. "Carl, are
you okay? Are you hurt?" the minister kept asking as he helped Carl
to his feet. Carl just passed a hand over his brow and sighed, shaking
his head.
"Just some punk kids. I hope they'll wise-up someday." His wet
clothes clung to his slight frame as he bent to pick up the hose. He
adjusted the nozzle again and started to water. Confused and a little
concerned, the minister asked, "Carl, what are you doing?"
"I've got to finish my watering. It's been very dry lately,"
came the calm reply. Satisfying himself that Carl really was all right,
the minister could only marvel. Carl was a man from a different time and
place.
A few weeks later the three returned. Just as before their threat was
unchallenged. Carl again offered them a drink from his hose. This time
they didn't rob him. They wrenched the hose from his hand and drenched
him head to foot in the icy water. When they had finished their
humiliation of him, they sauntered off down the street, throwing
catcalls and curses, falling over one another laughing at the hilarity
of what they had just done.
Carl just watched them. Then he turned toward the warmth giving sun,
picked up his hose, and went on with his watering. The summer was
quickly fading into fall. Carl was doing some tilling when he was
startled by the sudden approach of someone behind him.
He stumbled and fell into some evergreen branches. As he struggled to
regain his footing, he turned to see the tall leader of his summer
tormentors reaching down for him. He braced himself for the expected
attack.
"Don't worry old man, I'm not gonna hurt you this time." The
young man spoke softly, still offering the tattooed and scarred hand to
Carl. As he helped Carl get up, the man pulled a crumpled bag from his
pocket and handed it to Carl.
"What's this?" Carl asked. "It's your stuff," the
man explained. "It's your stuff back. Even the money in your
wallet." "I don't understand," Carl said. "Why would
you help me now?"
The man shifted his feet, seeming embarrassed and ill at ease. "I
learned something from you," he said. "I ran with that gang
and hurt people like you. We picked you because you were old and we knew
we could do it. But every time we came and did something to you, instead
of yelling and fighting back, you tried to give us a drink. You didn't
hate us for hating you. You kept showing love against our hate." He
stopped for a moment. "I couldn't sleep after we stole your stuff,
so here it is back." He paused for another awkward moment, not
knowing what more there was to say. "That bag's my way of saying
thanks for straightening me out, I guess." And with that, he walked
off down the street.
Carl looked down at the sack in his hands and gingerly opened it. He
took out his retirement watch and put it back on his wrist. Opening his
wallet, he checked for his wedding photo. He gazed for a moment at the
young bride that still smiled back at him from all those years ago.
He died one cold day after Christmas that winter. Many people attended
his funeral in spite of the weather. In particular the minister noticed
a tall young man that he didn't know sitting quietly in a distant corner
of the church. The minister spoke of Carl's garden as a lesson in life.
In a voice made thick with unshed tears, he said, "Do your best and
make your garden as beautiful as you can. We will never forget Carl and
his garden."
The following spring another flyer went up. It read: "Person needed
to care for Carl's garden." The flyer went unnoticed by the busy
parishioners until one day when a knock was heard at the minister's
office door. Opening the door, the minister saw a pair of scarred and
tattooed hands holding the flyer. "I believe this is my job, if
you'll have me," the young man said.
The minister recognized him as the same young man who had returned the
stolen watch and wallet to Carl. He knew that Carl's kindness had turned
this man's life around. As the minister handed him the keys to the
garden shed, he said, "Yes, go take care of Carl's garden and honor
him."
The man went to work and, over the next several years, he tended the
flowers and vegetables just as Carl had done. In that time, he went to
college, got married, and became a prominent member of the community.
But he never forgot his promise to Carl's memory and kept the garden as
beautiful as he thought Carl would have kept it.
One day he approached the new minister and told him that he couldn't
care for the garden any longer. He explained with a shy and happy smile,
"My wife just had a baby boy last night, and she's bringing him
home on Saturday."
"Well, congratulations!" said the minister, as he was handed
the garden shed keys. "That's wonderful! What's the baby's
name?"
"Carl," he replied.