Community gardeners: Passionate? Delusional? Both?

Today we started a community garden on a neglected 'brownfields' site. The Portland Cement Works literally built Sydney. Once, this was a thriving industrial community. Sure, it was constantly blanketed in a cloud of cement-dust, and subsequent generations are still showing up to hospital with respiratory diseases that smash state averages to smithereens, but hey -this is a familiar story in many regional industrial centres. Coal mining, electrical power-plants, cement works...no one bothers about it too much. There's a pride in industry and survival. Not any great wonder that this is a set-in-stone Nationals seat.

However, things are inching towards change. As Sydney and the Greater West become increasingly impossible to afford, the population is shifting -socially, economically and even politically. Most encouraging of all, dying communities that have been left adrift after industry closure are still fighting towards growth. This isn't idealism, it's survival. The suicide rate in Lithgow is obscene. Hopelessness is constantly tempered by social movements like "It's not weak to speak", and "Walk and talk". People are trying to connect, to solve, to grow.

I don't even pretend to have comprehensive answers here. I'm a Nutrition scientist, a foodie and a gardener. My part in helping is to use my knowledge to make a difference, any difference.

So, we're starting to breathe life into a skeletal monolith of industry-past. I know of no better way than planting a garden. 

A garden IS life. It's building soil back to fertility, it's planting and saving seeds in hope of a better future. It's beauty, work, science, inspiration, joy and community. A depressed patch of earth is as wonderful as a foster-child, or a large charitable donation to me. It's crying out for nurture -something so many of us can understand.

This is our little plot. 185 sq metres or so. The soil is...not. It's dust. It grows couch and hardy weeds, and is thickly matted. trust me, I tried to sink a mattock into it today and it said "Sod off!" in no uncertain terms. This is land that has been used until it's bleeding, and it's not coming back to softness without a fight.

This is my version of showing Cinderella her dress for the ball. Right now she's scoffing heartily. 'Not wearing that..NO WAY!'. She's pretty steely in her resolve. So, we're trying a gentler approach: 'It's too much. I get it...but maybe just these ear-rings?'. She harrumphs. Not pleased.

We adorn her anyway. We hope she'll get used to them...even like them eventually. This weekend, we'll try even more beautiful ones -made of hardwood sleepers and the richest soil. Perhaps with heirloom pumpkins sprawling over her parched body gently she'll give a little...just a little. Perhaps with regular water she'll yield...just a bit.

We're only here to help, but like all wounded things -the land is likely to give us a few swipes and scars before she trusts us enough. It's a gentle team of gardeners. No -one's going to attack her with gouging machines, or demand that she 'put out' before she's ready. We'll wait, and tickle. We're hoping that one day she remembers how wonderful it once was to be soft and fertile. We're hoping she'll forgive us for past wrongs.

In our tiny corner of a vast, wounded body, we're hoping to show her (and us as a community) that we can heal and thrive. Small steps.