Hummingbirds, Cucumbers, and Hope

Cati had a request.

“Can you get us a hummingbird feeder?”

I rolled my eyes.

Surely a hummingbird wouldn’t visit a prison, I thought to myself.

But who am I to tell them no?

“Let’s try it,” I said.

Thanks to the support of donors like you, our Roots to Reentry class had previously built a greenhouse, a pond for water lilies, a compost bin, and a worm farm. Cati had spoken with the other students and they wanted to try something new.

I ordered a hummingbird feeder and snagged a bag of sugar from the grocery store.

The next week, I returned to the garden with our new treasures. We hung the feeder and filled it with sugar water, then the women went about their work - pulling weeds, harvesting fruits and vegetables, pruning dead and diseased limbs and foliage. By now, the work has become almost automatic. The veteran students teach the new students what to do, passing along not only their knowledge, but a sense of ownership and pride. I love watching it happen in real time. Gardening is such a beautiful way to experience love and practice care. Our Creator has given us the gift of connecting with the peace, beauty, and wonder of His creation and there’s something powerful about watching that connection take root in these women.

Our garden is a thing of wonder. In June, we harvested 40-or-so cucumbers each week. Cucumbers out the wazoo! Too many cucumbers really. The top shelf of my fridge has been filled with pickles, sauces, salsas, and more. Thankfully my wife, Madi, supports my vocation and is fine with me bringing my work home, particularly when it’s vegetables.

One of the sunflower plants in this garden is 15 feet tall. There’s no way we’ll be able to harvest its seeds. And you know, that’s alright. Seeing this towering flower leaves you with a sense of awe. There’s a basketball-sized pumpkin growing in one corner of the garden as well. The women can’t wait to paint it. They’ve declared that they won’t dare eat it or cut it. Canna Lillies frame the sides of our greenhouse, their dark green foliage spiraling towards the sky with yellow iris-like flowers reaching upwards, higher and higher. Watermelon, cantaloupe, and cucumber vines (did I mention the cucumbers already?) creep along the ground. Corn stalks tower overhead while tomatoes bend their fruit-laden branches towards the earth.

I wish you could see this beautiful garden we’ve built together - because, in so many ways, you’ve built it, too. I try to describe it, but words simply don’t do it justice. The best word I can find is ALIVE! It hums and buzzes with spiders, bees, ladybugs, and all kinds of tiny creatures. Have you ever seen a Yellow Woolly Bear caterpillar? These little fuzzy “Martians” seem to be crawling everywhere!

It’s more than a garden. It’s a living, breathing reminder of what can happen when we plant something, nurture it, and give it a chance to grow.

We end each class with a breathing exercise. I ask everyone to turn and face the sun and close their eyes. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s hippy-dippy, granola, whatever-you-want-to-call-it; I’ve heard it before. The guards think we look crazy – the twelve of us with our faces turned up towards the sun, basking in its light, standing in silence, facing Heaven. Those quiet moments in the garden humming with aliveness are precious.

Together, we breathe in and we breathe out. I lead them through a cadence.

Breathe in joy, breathe out hope.

Breathe in hope, breathe out wisdom.

Breathe in wisdom, breathe out joy.

I was once asked why we don’t breathe out the things we don’t like, things like anger and hatred.

“There’s already enough badness in the world,” I said. “Why should we put more of that back out there?”

She nodded along solemnly. We breathe in good and we breathe out good. We breathe in God.

At first the exercise was awkward. The ladies weren’t sure if they could trust those around them enough to actually close their eyes. They weren’t sure if they could be vulnerable enough to look goofy. But now, they embrace the stillness and the weirdness. At another men’s prison we were doing the same exercise when someone walked by and sang “Soak Up the Sun” by Sheryl Crow. The stillness was pierced as we all erupted in laughter.

But back to the women’s prison.

I guided the women through the breathing exercise. When we opened our eyes again, I blinked softly, adjusting to the sunlight.

One of the women pointed towards the far corner of the garden.

“Look, Mr. Spencer,” she exclaimed.

“A hummingbird.”