This community garden in Southeast Washington grows far more than food
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Noah Robertson Staff writer
| Washington
Three years ago, when Jevael German received his assignment through Washington鈥檚聽, he wanted nothing to do with it. He would be working with聽, a community garden in the city鈥檚 troubled Southeast 鈥� known for police sirens much more than produce.
A Washington native himself, Mr. German dreaded the months of labor in the district鈥檚 humidity. He didn鈥檛 even like vegetables. While meeting his supervisors on his first day, Mr. German laid his head facedown on the desk.聽
鈥淪ir, if you don鈥檛 want to be here, you鈥檙e welcome to leave,鈥� he heard back. 鈥淏ut you can鈥檛 put your head on the desk.鈥�
Why We Wrote This
Sometimes a seed鈥檚 most important crop won鈥檛 fit on a dinner plate. That鈥檚 true of the opportunities and sense of community that Project Eden has been growing for almost a decade.
Mr. German stayed, and the summer surprised him. He enjoyed the outdoor work, which reminded him of childhood gardening with his grandmother. As an older member of the summer group, he began mentoring some of his younger co-workers. He even started eating greens.聽
At the program鈥檚 end, Mr. German asked to continue with Project Eden for another summer. After returning, he learned that a former summer employee at the garden had died in a shooting. Mr. German, who was still living with one foot in the streets at that time, saw in that tragic death a version of himself if he didn鈥檛 change.聽
鈥淩ight then and there, I was like, I鈥檝e got to leave the streets alone,鈥� he says.聽
Mr. German is one of hundreds of young people who have worked with Project Eden, and been an embodiment of its mission: to be a source of opportunity and healing in a community so often defined by limits and loss.聽
Almost 10 years ago, Cheryl Gaines, a local pastor, started the garden as a response to the South Capitol Street massacre, one of Washington鈥檚 worst mass shootings in decades. Her idea then, as now, was that no community chooses violence when it has another option. Since then Ms. Gaines, her son Kwesi Billups, and hundreds of local employees and volunteers have sought to offer such an option.
While simultaneously addressing challenges of health, food insecurity, and unemployment, Project Eden is at its roots an alternative. The work is rarely convenient, and resources are often low. But the garden鈥檚 legacy is that seeds can grow on what may seem like rocky soil 鈥� if only there鈥檚 a sower.
鈥淭his garden gives back to you what you give to it,鈥� says Mr. Billups.聽
Helping a community resist despair
In 2012, Ms. Gaines was Project Eden鈥檚 sower, though an unlikely one at that.聽
She grew up with an abusive, alcoholic father in public housing outside New Orleans, only to trade that past for a career in law, and later the ministry. While at seminary in Rochester, New York, she had a persistent vision that God was calling her to live in Southeast Washington, begin a church, and plant a community garden.聽
In 2010, after having lived in the Washington area for years, she felt the time had come.
Leaving four dead and six more injured, the South Capitol Street massacre rattled Southeast, and brought the community together to mourn. At a vigil, Ms. Gaines met the owner of an apartment building just blocks away from the the shooting. In that conversation, she eventually shared her vision. Before long, the owner told her she could use her building鈥檚 backyard.
On that land two years later, Project Eden (鈥淓den鈥� stands for Everyone Deserves to Eat Naturally) began as a 10-by-20-foot patch of dirt, with only rows of tilled soil. The next year Ms. Gaines and her team turned that plot into a 28-by-48-foot greenhouse, complete with aquaponics, and have since expanded to another location at nearby Faith Presbyterian Church.聽
A community garden may seem like a boutique project in some areas, but not in Southeast, says Caroline Brewer, director of marketing and communications at the Audubon Naturalist Society, which recently named Mr. Billups its yearly聽.
The area is a food desert, she says, with only one major grocery store for just over 80,000 residents. Many of those living in Southeast Washington have some of the lowest per capita incomes in the country, and the . The holes left by limited opportunity and education are often filled by crime and violence.
鈥淲hen people have opportunities to give back ... that allows them to grow and develop and mature and make [an] even greater contribution to their families and their communities,鈥� says Ms. Brewer.
Project Eden isn鈥檛 just resisting material challenges of nutrition and income, says Ms. Brewer. It鈥檚 helping the community resist despair.聽
聽鈥淚t鈥檚 a constant battle,鈥� she says, 鈥渁nd they鈥檙e winning that battle.鈥�
Seeds that keep growing
Winning involves sweat-stained shirts and dirty hands in the growing season from early spring to late autumn. To Mr. Billups, who has spent almost half his life working in the garden, those hours are part of his identity.
Project Eden sources its produce in the form of seeds through donations, grants, and community partnerships, including one with the Capital Area Food Bank. While the selection depends on what鈥檚 available, volunteers follow a loose crop rotation of roots, legumes, fruits, and greens 鈥� like the lush Swiss chard growing tall this season. Sometimes, all by themselves, last season鈥檚 crops will sprout back up, like a living legacy left in the soil.聽
Volunteers distribute the food, along with donations from the food bank, to the community, using Faith Presbyterian as their distribution site. Thousands in the area have benefited from their work, says Mr. Billups, and, without prompting, many of them volunteer. One man offers to cut the grass. Another woman in a neighboring apartment building keeps watch, lest an intruder break in.聽
鈥淧roject Eden was really founded as an engine of agency for people to be able to see that you can grow your own food and you can stake your own claim in your own environment,鈥� says Mr. Billups, who recently graduated from American University and plans to continue his work with urban gardens when he starts a job in Baltimore.
Ervin Bias, a deacon at Ms. Gaines鈥� church, is one of the volunteers. He鈥檚 been with the project almost since its beginning and has worked so many hours that Mr. Billups calls him the 鈥渕aster gardener.鈥�
Despite having two jobs, Mr. Bias visits the garden at least once a week. Getting his hands dirty reminds him of childhood moments in the garden with his father. On still mornings, tending to the crops alone 鈥� especially his fragrant mint 鈥� makes him think of God.聽
Volunteers at the garden regularly call each other 鈥渂rother鈥� and 鈥渟ister.鈥� On a mid-April Saturday, the day of weeding, watering, and other scattered work began with an a cappella rendition of 鈥淟ift Every Voice and Sing,鈥� the Black national anthem. Everyone stood in a circle and sang together.
But the sense of community fostered in the greenhouse is fragile. The building whose yard houses Project Eden鈥檚 greenhouse recently went up for sale, and they couldn鈥檛 compete with an enormous bid from developers.聽
While they hope to stay, they鈥檒l move if they need to, says Ms. Gaines.
But even if their work at that location is done, it鈥檚 not over, Mr. Bias says. A seed planted in the garden is a seed planted in the gardener. In him, and in Mr. German, Ms. Gaines, Mr. Billups, and thousands of others who鈥檝e passed through the greenhouse, eaten the food, and tasted the fruit of their land, that seed still grows.聽
鈥淚 don鈥檛 know when this will ever end,鈥� says Mr. Bias. 鈥淚t鈥檚 something I can always take with me, to share with somebody else.鈥�
Editor鈥檚 note: The name of Mr. Billups鈥� award has been clarified.
