Soil Story by Jordan Salcido
By Jordan Salcido
What happens when you bring a group of people together to talk about soil?
First of all, the conversation can go on for hours. You’ll see expressions of joy. Of pain. Of wonder. Of loss. Of growth. When you gather to talk about soil, you’re really talking about more than the rich brown material beneath our feet.
My connection to soil began as a child, living with my mom, my brother, my grandparents, my aunt and my cousin under one roof of a tiny apartment. My brother and cousin were playing video games. My mom and my aunt working several jobs. My grandmother cooking and caring for the kids and my grandfather collecting things around the neighborhood to repurpose or send to family back home.
My safe space was a tree, separating the two apartment buildings. I don’t know what kind it was, but it had long drooping branches and covered our communal area with a blanket of shade. I remember watching a trail of ants dance up and down this tree for hours. Wondering where they were going and why they chose this tree as their home. Sitting beneath this tree, in the cool soil, I felt at home too.
Sometimes I was lucky enough to join my grandpa on his neighborhood walk. We’d travel “through the jungle” which was really an overgrown pomegranate tree about a mile away. My favorite part was walking through the tunnel of its branches. Once inside, the sun peeked in and illuminated each ruby red fruit, like a cave full of treasure. I remember the smile the neighbor had as she handed my grandpa a plastic bag, bursting in an abundance of pomegranates. They’d keep the conversation short if I was around, under 30 minutes. If I hadn’t come along, they could talk for well over an hour, with their heads tilted and a hand shielding their faces from the sun.
On another block, an apricot tree, also overgrown, hung over a fence. This neighbor wasn’t interested in sharing, but my grandpa would say, “I think it’s okay to take what’s hanging over the fence. Plus, if we don’t eat it, the squirrels will.” He handed one to me. His hands were rough but the fruit was smooth and warm from the sun. I couldn’t see the soil of this tree, or climb under its branches. But its fruit was always sweet and full of flavor. We’d fill our pockets and head home.
“I think it’s okay to take what’s hanging over the fence. Plus, if we don’t eat it, the squirrels will.”
“We used to go out and pick piñon all day,” he’d say. I’d pretend this is the first time I’d heard this story. “Sometimes we’d accidentally end up on private property and get chased out.” He smiled, telling the rest of the story to himself silently.
I’d ask him, “why can’t we plant a fruit tree?” He’d explain that the landlord wouldn’t let us because it would bring pests and make a mess. “One day we’ll have a fruit tree though, don’t worry.”
“What am I going to do with all of these?”
Many years later, my grandparents moved to a home of their own. In the back stood a small lemon tree. Its branches were wide and in some areas, you could bend down to get underneath and let the sun shine in to illuminate the yellow fruit. My grandpa would always send me home with a plastic bag, bursting with lemons. “What am I going to do with all of these?” He’d laugh, a bag full of lemons isn’t the same as a bag full of pomegranates. When I got home, I’d take two from the bag and share the rest with neighbors passing through on their daily walk. We’d talk and tilt our heads with our hands shielding our face from the sun.
My grandpa taught me the importance of finding joy in a walk to the corner, in the company of a stranger, or the stillness of an early morning. He showed me that soil can connect people. That soil wasn’t something to be afraid of. It was something to be cared for. It was okay to use my hands, to get “dirty” in the soil. He’d talk about it as if it were a friend. A relative.
His eyes lit up as I told him we were collecting “soil stories” at one of our Soil Time workshops with Prospering Backyards. “What’s your soil story?” he asked.
“What’s your soil story?”
he asked.
My Soil Story
by Jordan Salcido
Jordan Salcido
Communications and Community building
Jordan Salcido (she / her) is a multidisciplinary community organizer based in the Los Angeles area. Through a number of projects, she supports efforts to advance environmental justice and amplify community needs and priorities. She greatly believes in the power of storytelling and seeks to shine a light on community stories of strength and resilience. As a California naturalist, Jordan enjoys learning about the land and its plants, animals and people.
