Jesse's garden plot measures maybe twenty by fifteen feet—tiny by farming standards. But what grows there feeds half our cottages, and more importantly, teaches anyone who stops by how to grow their own food. Partnership isn't always about scale. Sometimes it's just about showing up at dawn to transplant seedlings.
I found Jesse in his garden at 6:15 AM, kneeling in the dirt, transplanting lettuce seedlings. Mist still hung low. The sun hadn't cleared the Victorian rooflines. He looked up, smiled, kept working.
"You're up early," I said.
"So are you," he pointed out. "Want to help?"
This is how Jesse teaches—by doing, and letting you join in. No formal lessons, no YouTube tutorials. Just: here's a seedling, here's where it goes, try not to crush the roots.
I knelt beside him in the damp earth. He showed me once, then watched me do it wrong, then corrected gently. "Little deeper. Give the roots room." I tried again. Better.
Anyone can grow food. You just need dirt, seeds, and willingness to fail repeatedly until you figure it out.
Jesse's been gardening this plot for three years. Before him, it was just weedy grass behind the Victorian cottages. He dug it by hand, one shovel-full at a time, turning grass into beds. Built raised boxes from reclaimed lumber. Hauled compost in a wheelbarrow from the community pile.
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Now it produces constantly. Lettuce, tomatoes, beans, herbs, whatever grows in West Virginia's temperamental climate. Jesse plants intensively—succession planting, he calls it—so something's always ready. He gives most of it away.
"Why not sell it?" people ask.
Jesse shrugs. "Because then it's a business. I don't want a business. I want a garden."
But he does partner with people. Teaches them. Maya learned composting from Jesse. Bill got his tomato starts from Jesse's seedlings. Emma's planning a plot next spring after spending mornings watching Jesse work.
"I'm not a farmer," Jesse says. "I'm a teacher who uses dirt."
Last Saturday he ran an informal workshop—"just come hang out in the garden"—and twelve people showed up. They weeded, transplanted, learned about crop rotation and companion planting. Jesse answered questions, demonstrated techniques, sent everyone home with seedlings and encouragement.
"Start small," he told them. "One tomato plant. See if it lives. Next year, plant two."
This is partnership at its simplest. Not contracts or business plans. Just knowledge shared, skills passed on, food grown and distributed within a community small enough that everyone knows whose hands planted what.
By 7:30, we'd finished the lettuce. Jesse stood, brushed dirt from his knees, surveyed the garden with satisfaction. "Two weeks, we'll have salad. You coming back to help harvest?"
"If I'm up at 6 AM again," I said.
"You will be," Jesse grinned. "Gardening does that—rewires your sleep schedule, your relationship to food, your understanding of seasons. Give it time."
He's probably right. I'm already thinking about spring, about maybe trying my own plot. Jesse's already thinking about it too—planning space, saving seeds, ready to teach one more person how to get dirt under their fingernails and food from the ground.
That's the real harvest from Jesse's garden. Not just vegetables, but knowledge. Not just food, but connection to how food grows. Not just partnership, but community built one seedling at a time.
14 COMMENTS
Deb Morrison
9 Dec 2024Jesse's approach is exactly right. Start small, fail often, learn as you go. That's how I started Morrison Farm forty years ago—one garden bed at a time. Now look at us. The best teachers are the ones who get their hands dirty alongside you.
REPLYMaya Chen
9 Dec 2024Jesse taught me everything I know about composting. He's patient, never judgmental when you mess up, and genuinely excited when something you planted actually grows. That's rare—finding someone who wants you to succeed as much as they want to succeed themselves.
REPLYEmma Clarke
10 Dec 2024I'm one of those people planning a spring plot thanks to Jesse. Watching him work is like meditation—slow, methodical, connected to something bigger than yourself. I never thought I'd be interested in gardening, but here we are. That's what good teachers do—they change what you think you're capable of.
REPLYBill Henderson
10 Dec 2024Jesse gave me Cherokee Purple tomato starts three years running now. Never asks for anything back. Just says "grow them, share them, save some seeds for next year." That's how knowledge spreads—generously, without keeping score.
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