Provided to the QAM News
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been wanting to write about Clara Rhodefer. I’ve been putting it off for over a decade because, for one thing, my fondest memory of her has to do with watering my vegetable garden, and I haven’t watered a vegetable garden in far too long.
For another, I didn’t want to write a story about Clara that she might read. Clara was a very private person.
Before we moved to Seattle, my husband and I used to rent a cabin from Clara. Her property, better known out in Sequim as The Old Rhodefer Farm, has a large white prosperous-looking farmhouse that Clara lived in. It overlooks the rest of the land, including the tiny cabin we lived in. One month we came up short of cash and Clara suggested we paint the cabin in lieu of rent.
About a week later, with the scaffolding strewn all over the yard, Larry and I stood staring at our freshly painted home, Clara joining us for once. She’d pretty much ignored us until then. She lived in the main house for eighty years and I guess she felt she should have a say in whatever goes on next door, even about the beans I planted, and I noticed she kept looking down at them instead of at the cabin. Placing her hands on her hips, she looked directly at my pole beans and said, “Well, from here they don’t look so bad.”
How many people would say such a thing? It endeared her to me.
Only her frankness was nothing compared to the approval I felt when she finally walked over to stand with us. I felt our out-of-town-ness was finally being accepted. That we were finally being accepted. I stepped closer to her. I often know in a second the people I want to be nearer to.
She looked at me crossly. “Mary Lou, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
“Really? What?” I braced myself. Larry put his hand on my shoulder.
“You should water your garden in the morning while the ground is still cool so the roots can handle the cold water.”
I nodded. But not grudgingly. Was it true?
It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she wanted to share her knowledge. Farming know-how has been in Clara’s family since Seattle was a logging camp, and everyone has a desire to share what they know with someone who’ll listen. I’m the same way about writing. There’s almost nothing I don’t want to share about the truths of choosing a writing life.
So, I listened.
But I wasn’t totally convinced, so I said the first thing that popped into my head, “I thought it was better to water in the evening after the sun goes down so ...”
I had to think for a minute. “So the water doesn’t evaporate in the heat of the day.”
“No, cold water distresses roots that are still warm from the sun.”
So, I said the next thing that popped into my head, “Larry told me to water in the evening.”
It was one of the many, many times I have believed someone simply because that someone was a man. I don’t know why we make these errors in judgement when we are young women. But we do.
Larry looks at me, realizes I have blamed him, and says, “Hey, what do I know?”
This made Clara laugh. From then on, I was happy to take Clara’s advice. As instructed, the next morning I watered first thing.
“You’ve been Clara-fied,” Larry said.
By the end of August, I had to lift the hose way over my head to reach all of my vegetables. When the spray hit, it made a splattering sound and I’d adjust the nozzle until there was a softer mist. I’d look up and see Clara reading the paper at her kitchen table, but I knew she was watching me out of the corner of her eye.
Neighbors can teach you a lot. Like how we are really so clueless a lot of the time, that we learn when we are open to knowledge, that we should always put learning first even about things small and inconsequential, and if we do, everything else will follow.
But the best thing Clara taught me is how watering is a great way to start the day. The best.
For plants and for people.
Mary Lou Sanelli is the author of Every Little Thing, a collection of essays nominated for last year's Washington State Book Award. Previous titles include fiction and non-fiction. Her newest book, In So Many Words, is forthcoming in September. She also works as a speaker
and a master dance teacher. For more information about her and her work, visit www.marylousanelli.com.