Mister Owita's Guide to Gardening: How I Learned the Unexpected Joy of a Green Thumb and an Open Heart Read Online Free Page A

parents were of one mind about this. Daddy ran a small hotel, and he had caused a stir in our hometown of Radford by renting a room to a “Negro.” My mother, an only child who grew up during the Depression, had decided that the home she built with Daddy would, first of all, be rich in wisdom and in loving kindness. No one would ever be excluded from her universe or ours. We were as good as anyone, we were taught, but better than no one. Daddy would sometimes quote from FDR’s fourth inaugural speech, about being “citizens of the world,” and added, in a warning tone, that a child of his would be
that
, and not “an ignoramus or a country bumpkin who looks down on other people.”
    Examining my conscience, still hiding behind the greetingcards, I made a decision. With my eyes on Giles Owita, I rolled my cart to take a place in his line. I would do now what I hadn’t done before. I would introduce myself the proper way.
    Several people were ahead of me in line, and closer in now, I heard their conversations. Giles Owita glanced up in my direction, but if he recognized me, he didn’t show it. He continued being cheerful as he lifted groceries from the conveyor belt, somehow managing to train his attention on people instead of the things rolling by him. His eyes were dark, I noticed, but somehow bright as well. His goodwill seemed infectious. He spoke a few words here and there, such as: “Let me reach that for you,” or “Our grass is thirsty for this rain. Eh?” He had a lovely, lyrical accent, and I noted how other shoppers actually seemed reluctant to turn away from him to take their groceries home.
    I realized that one of them, a younger woman with a baby, was a neighbor of ours whom I hadn’t recognized at first. She always seemed to me to wear a permanently sour expression. But today she exchanged pleasantries with Giles Owita as she pushed the curls of her dark brown hair away from her pretty face. Her baby’s fingers reached to touch her lips. She kissed the baby’s cheek and he rocked in her arms with delight.
    I turned in time to see a young man approach the line, carrying a cone of green tissue paper containing roses mingled with baby’s breath. He was newly married, I decided. Or recently engaged. Maybe his wife had just had a baby. Yes, that was it, I thought. It rang true. He cradled the ruby-red blooms like achild. He took his place in line, behind me. His cheeks were flushed and his hair stuck up a bit at the crown.
    The person in line ahead of me was an elderly man in a flannel shirt and zip-up vest. He seemed annoyed as he checked his watch. The cashier announced his total and he responded by handing her a clutch of dollar bills before digging in the lining of his vest for coins. Quickly, Giles Owita supplied some change from a pocket of his apron. He said something to the elderly man that I couldn’t hear, but whatever it was it seemed to loosen some knot of tension in the older man’s shoulders.
    A teenage girl with smoke-colored eye shadow and a butterfly tattoo on her wrist had taken her place behind the man with the roses. She was quick to offer a coin to the cause herself. “Here,” she said to the guy with the roses. He put the quarters in my hand and I played my role in the chain by passing them along. The elderly man’s narrow face took on a smoother and more pleasant look. After that, it seemed to me that we were all connected—me and Giles Owita; a seemingly gruff old man; a young girl with purple hair and a silver nose ring; a man rushing off to some important event in his life; and even my typically cranky neighbor, who was now extending a hand into the air as if to say she needed assistance.
    Oh, goodness. I hoped she wasn’t barking some sort of order at Giles Owita. She could be quite ill-tempered.
    A moment passed before I realized—she was simply greeting someone.
    Me.
    Her neighbor. Remember, Carol?
    I waved back.
    “How are you?” I said, trying to hide my surprise