"Plant soil is a sin."
- John Steinbeck
At the bottom of the plot, an unusual garden grows and rotates in the place where the industrial agricultural land is planted in the right rows.
Three varieties of guava, papaya, banana, ginjube—fruits that speak of a distant home—grow at the 13-hectare Woodlake Botanical Garden, a small space between the highway and the reservoir at a railroad crossing. He ran away.. No chemicals are used here. Visitors are advised to pick any fruit they see and place it in shaded areas that are cool in the summer heat and dry with little rain.
Every inch of irrigation water is important and soon needs protection. But according to founders Olga and Manuel Jimenez, even in times of drought and conflict, it is a priority; A field of frustration for Woodlake's child and adolescent volunteer workforce 30 years ago. To commemorate the park's true title, Manuel plastered the streets with quotes.
"If you want a prosperous year, plant a grain. If you want 10 years of prosperity, grow a tree. If you want 100 years of prosperity, grow people."
- Chinese saying
Hamida Mohammed, 17, and Alexandra Martinez, 16, were working in the garden last Saturday. They have been inseparable since Alexandra met the new boy at school because she thought being new was scary.
This year, Hamida wore a pink hijab from Yemen. She speaks Arabic, Spanish and Chinese, but is still learning English. Her father owns a popular burger joint called Woodlake Drive-In, where Jimenez often buys lunch for his volunteers.
Olga showed the girls how to cut dead roses and they immediately came back to life.
"Tell me, will your father let you go to college?" Does he take you out? Hamida asked. "Many Mexican girls will tell you that they talked to their fathers about the importance of women being independent, and I know your father."
Hamida said with a smile. "I will go to university.
He recorded his projects with a translation program on his phone. "My dream is to be a film director, writer, director and cinematographer."
Meanwhile, Manuel loaded a group of children into an old pickup truck and drove them a mile and a half past orchards, apple and citrus trees into a wild and bushy area. 17-year-old Alonso Velasquez asked to distribute pesticides and show other children how to use them.
"I can tell right away, Alonso is the leader," Manuel said after finishing something. "So what does he not have?"
He grew up working summers on his family's legal farm in Michoacán, Mexico. He said he was kidnapped two years ago by a cartel member who hid in the jungle for three days. But a more powerful cartel intervenes and helps the family find him after paying a ransom.
"The different symptoms show how well Manuel fights the pests in the garden," Alonso said.
Everything that grows here attracts the known pests, but the garden attracts the natural predators of each pest to create a balance.
Manuel studied agricultural plant science at Fresno State and worked as a junior farm consultant at the University of California for 30 years, retiring nine years ago. He led efforts to cultivate exotic plants in the San Joaquin Valley and was instrumental in building the region's blueberry industry.
But perhaps his and Olga's greatest gift is their storytelling ability.
“Whenever you're around them, they tell stories. There are funny stories and silly stories. And then there are the more important ones to remember," said 18-year-old Karem Barreto, who recently added purple highlights. To black hair.
"Hey, have you noticed Karam's phosphorus deficiency?" Manuel taunted him by mentioning the famine that had turned the leaves of some plants into wine.
Barretto moved to Woodlake from Los Angeles when he was in seventh grade.
"Suddenly we were on the field," he recalls. He remembers the fear of open spaces.
“My parents were very protective and were unsure about my siblings and I going to kindergarten. But they ran into Manuel and Olga and said: Now she volunteers at the park and attends the College of the Sequoias, a community college in Visalia. She plans to become a special education teacher.
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Manuel and Olga grew up in this Tulare County town of 7,708. Manuel's phone screensaver is a picture of them being high school sweethearts in 1968.
They come from farm worker families, and children from those families often follow a non-educational path.
A talented student, Olga is determined not to let this happen to her.
One year after he and his family started school, they returned from the farm. Unbeknownst to her, Olga was transferred to the English class known for "slow" students.
He went to the higher course, where he was accepted. Managers told him there was no room. He said he would sit on the floor. They said they couldn't put it down.
He said, "Then you should buy a desk," and they did. Then Olga entered Fresno State.
Barretto hears Olga's story and agrees. "watch out?" He says. "It's a matter of commitment. It's a reminder."
Manuel almost always had a camera around his neck as a teenager, and there are photos of volunteers at the park over the years.
Manuel lifted one of the young man's cheeks. The boy had good parents and showed leadership, but he was recruited by the high school team.
"He shot two people," Manuel said, looking at the photo. "Two people lost their lives and he will spend the rest of his life in prison. We will not save them all.
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"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful and determined citizens can change the world. In fact, it's the only thing that ever has."
- Margaret Med
Woodlake Botanical Garden was born out of another conflict with the authorities. In the year In the early 1970s, the Jiménezs, newlyweds and determined to improve the city's environment, led beautification projects for children and teenagers. The wall of the old bar was covered with gang signs and insults, and the owner allowed them to be covered on the wall.
Olga and Manuel gave each of the teenagers to paint a part of the wall.
This was the time of the Delano wine strike, which shook the power structure of the region. A teenager raises his fist by drawing a picture of " tribes " ("people"). Another added the United Farm Workers sign.
The White City Council said it would send police to enforce the curfew and remove the completed wall.
Manuel turned to California Rural Legal Aid for help.
It was a hot topic, and community members packed a city council meeting that week. Old friends, even Mexican families, are angry with Olga and Manuel. "Why are you destroying our city?" asked a close friend.
The city council declared the mural a violation of the sign ordinance and then adjourned the meeting. Then the CRLA attorney stepped up.
"I know you're done with this meeting, but you have to open it up again or there's going to be a federal right-to-speak trial tomorrow," Manuel reminded him. The board of directors appeared before the camera. The mayor took it out and announced that the wall would remain, and he left with a hammer.
Eventually, Jimenez and the city were able to negotiate a more peaceful union. When Woodlake received a federal grant in 1999, a volunteer youth brigade named Woodlake Pride agreed to turn it into a permanent garden. The city provides water and insurance.
The main equipment and software capital came from Everett Krakow, owner of a local olive processing plant. Manuel worked in a factory when he was a teenager, but quit after Krakow yelled at him for being late.
Years later, Krakow stopped by one of Woodlake Pride's first projects and asked Manuel if he would feed the children who were volunteering. Manuel said sometimes community members bake cookies.
Krakow gave Manuel a $500 check for dinner. The account opened with that money is still the bill to pay when the car is finished, now the account of Woodlake Pride, an official nonprofit organization.
When it bought the land, Bank of America closed its branch in Woodlake. Krakou, who is skilled at trapping people with coal, called the regional office and told the authorities that they were leaving the community and that the least they could do was support the project. Woodlake Pride received a $10,000 donation from the bank.
Most city dwellers spend time in the park sooner or later. That day, the young couple sat under an apple tree and looked at each other from between their knees. Two cousins walked two dogs. A visitor from Orange County yelled, "Thank you," and put money in a gift box.
"It doesn't happen very often," Barreto said. The donation box appears invisible when people see it.
For decades, Jimenez has asked for the park to be included in the city budget, but they have always been denied. They were gone in an instant. See what the city needs to run this place. When the plants die and they can't stand it, they go back to their place. Two years ago, the city began budgeting $25,000 a year, funded by California's marijuana business tax.
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"The real meaning of life is to plant trees that you don't expect to sit in the shade of."
- Nelson Henderson
At 72, Olga and Manuel went from strangers to members of the community.
They are even painted on a wall in the center of town.
"I didn't want that," Manuel said. "It gives the impression that we are no longer fighting for the public. We are still fighting.
Many Tulare County workers died early in the Covid-19 outbreak. Jobs in rural areas are in packing houses and food processing plants. People went to work whether they were sick or not.
"Businesses didn't want anyone to know they were fighting COVID. They were trying to keep Manuel quiet."
Every Saturday night since April 2020, Manuel and Olga have lit lights in the park for the dead in Tulare County. He did this for over a year and in 2021 there were 841 candles. The park was closed but people could see the street lights. Manuel posted growing candles on his Facebook page. In the comments, people told the stories of the deceased.
One of the workers lost his mother that same Saturday. Manuel and Olga's best friend died one by one, then their close friends' families died.
"It is very important to remember this time," said Olga.
The past three years have not only been marked by global epidemics, but they have also been the driest in California's recorded history. Olga and Manuel recently took a walk outside Woodlake to see what was going on in the fields. They saw thousands of acres of newly planted orange trees.
"We are in a serious crisis. Maybe it's too late," Manuel said. "The simple truth is that water is scarce. You have to make a choice."
They have been warned that the city may cut off water to the park due to the ongoing drought. "But we have to protect common places, common beauty and food places," said Olga.
It was the end of the working day, and he was relaxed, legs outstretched, tools at his side. "When the good Lord calls me, I say, 'It's only a minute until I get my lawnmower,'" he said. Then he went to the shade of his favorite Pakistani mulberry tree where people used to gather.
The lessons she learned in the garden — how to work with others, grow food, the importance of resting in the shade and, most importantly, sharing stories — are survival tools.
"These young people need to know that they are not alone in the struggle ahead," Olga said. They contain courage, love, humor; There were losses and injustices before him.
"No matter what happens, this bond will remain," said Olga. "It's very important."
This story originally appeared in the Los Angeles Times.
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