Laine Berman

It was a blank slate, a vast, greenish brown, terribly ordinary space that terrified me. Yet at the same time, it spoke to me, beckoned to me, sprinkling my imagination with limitless possibilities – most of which were thoroughly inappropriate and unrealistic. I was baffled and amused by the similarities between my life and my lawn. They were both vast, thriving by all appearances, yet exactly what I did not want.

Still overcome by sorrow, culture shock, utter confusion regarding my spur of the moment decision to buy a house sight unseen on the flip side of the planet, and the physical and emotional exhaustion of the actual move (what the heck did I just do???!!!), I gazed out over the expanse of sun baked lawn covering my new front corner lot and the smaller, but no less daunting expanse of green covering my fenced back yard.

“That lawn is easier to manage than my life”, I thought to myself. “So that is what I will work on!”

“Food forest” I whispered, encouraging myself to look forward, not back even though I was echoing the words heard so often in my just abandoned, tropical paradise home in Indonesia.

Indonesia was easy. We’d throw kitchen waste and seeds into our compost on the ground, then return to harvest the vegetables a month or two later. No soil amendments were needed there beyond the dead leaves and compost we created in abundance from yard and kitchen scraps. Wandering through the dense greenery, we would find food we had never planted or planned for – a big orange pumpkin growing high up in a mango tree, bean vines climbing over tree limbs their bounty hanging down like green, red, and brown Christmas lights, fragrant herbs and ripe tomatoes luring us into their reach through a whiff of scent or a sudden bright red amongst the emerald greens. Amaranth and bitter melon growing like weeds we’d harvest when hungry. Arugula and basil, curry leaves and chilies, eggplant and sweet potatoes, lemons and all kinds of wonderful fruit grew in abundance! Papaya, mango, soursop, banana, rambutan, passion fruit, grapes, pineapple, guava, pomegranate, and others I don’t know the English words for all grew easily within our garden walls. Every morning my husband would wander through the garden upon awakening, picking anything ripe to juice for our breakfast. This was the glory of my Indonesian life, thriving with very little effort and guaranteed to continuously provide its bounty.

Now I was alone in Florida and determined to make the most of it. I had moved here impulsively, urged on by a savagely broken heart and a covid pandemic that was killing off far too many friends and neighbors in Indonesia. The final straw that impelled my move was the deaths of three close friends and more than a dozen acquaintances from Covid – all within one fateful week. I was choosing life and literally running away from death when I called the agent to check out this house for me and I booked my one-way ticket. The strangest part of it all was my sudden refusal to continue in my comfortable, ‘ideal’ lifestyle, perfected over decades of hard work. The main impetus for that decision to move was now gone, but the decision, once made, would not be retracted. After almost 40 years in Indonesia, I was now a Floridian, old enough to be on Medicare, meager Social Security checks my only income, and living completely alone for the first time in more than three decades.

While my Indonesian house was magnificent, a vast 100 year old Dutch colonial estate (and the official residence of the vice president during the war for independence in the 1940s), my Florida house was thankfully much smaller in real life than it had seemed in the pictures. I had negotiated with the previous owners to leave some furniture. Upon arrival, I had the basics already here: beds (despite the possibility that a previous resident had died in one of them), dressers, a sofa and chairs, dining table and chairs (they were wooden and offered no cushioning whatsoever on my bony ass. They hurt to sit on for long!), rugs and assorted detritus left for me. It was spacious, clean, and uncluttered; my footsteps and voice echoed in the emptiness. I maintained my Asian shoe-free habit here to celebrate that glorious silent void and remind myself how wonderful it was to finally be on my own – after such a long time with parents or roommates or boyfriends or lovers, and then a husband, and finally, a lover again. My arrival here revealed my priorities – or proclivities. I had carried around the planet one carry-on sized suitcase of almost entirely irreplaceable true vintage clothing, a few necessities, and a large portfolio containing my Indonesian art collection. Anything else I’d need I would find at estate sales or dumpster dives, or roadside, or thrift shops. I had savings but without employment opportunities and a covid pandemic still ravaging the world, I had to be frugal.

And so it began – my readaptation to life in the United States – as a single woman for the first time in four decades.

Cultural adaptation is always fraught with difficulties under the best of circumstances. Following four decades of living in countries with universal healthcare or at least affordable healthcare, I was now in the US navigating the complexities of Medicare, Advantage plans, and the unmanageable bureaucratic labyrinth they proudly support. My only income now was a very meager monthly social security check. I had to be frugal. After decades of speaking languages that grammatically and semantically unite rather than separate us, here I was in arguably the most independent, individualistic culture on earth. On top of all that, I had chosen to stay in Florida, of all places. In stark contrast to my own well-honed left-wing, radical feminism, liberalism, volunteerism, atheism amongst other proudly ‘woke’ isms, I was now in the ultra-conservative, Trump-loving domain of Florida. In the short time I have been based here, legislation allowed for permitless, concealed gun carry, the ‘don’t say gay’ laws, extensive book banning laws, gender reaffirmation therapy prohibition, the elimination of any racial inequality discussion in schools or universities, and laws eliminating Disney World’s status in revenge for their criticism of our governor’s anti gay laws (who the heck hates Disney??!). Our governor was traveling the country as a presidential candidate proclaiming his strong anti ‘woke’ pride, a hatred for critical race theory, and his proud rejection of any of the covid protection guidelines coming from the CDC. Florida was a “Free” state – free from CDC propaganda and federal government ‘socialism’, he boasted; never mind it had some of the highest Covid mortality rates in the country. Welcome to the Sunshine State!

So, yes, I’ll just ignore all that silliness and focus on the garden.

What the heck did I know about gardening???? Not much as you will soon find out!