Twice a year or so, Betty J. has a plant sale in her driveway or back yard. This is how I met her. She instantly reminded me of my family in South Dakota and I knew I had found a treasure of old fashioned diligence and dignity grounded in the common tasks of living. Betty lives one block from me and her plant sales signal the time for planting. I always find a way to gather up a few bills to exchange for some of her specimens. Her prices are more than fair relevant to the nursery and she throws in the kind of advice that doesn't ever lord over you like an expert opinion.
Nowadays there is talk among the youngsters of "doing it yourself" but Betty J. is the living incarnate of such an ideal. For most of us here in the urban metropolis, "doing it yourself" goes about as far as going to the farmer's market instead of the grocery store. We are a generation barely cooking our own meals, let alone growing and grinding our own wheat. We wouldn't know the right end of a shovel if we hadn't taken Permaculture at Merritt for a semester. Betty J. is the daughter of generations of DIY, a model of industry and self reliance that makes for Matriarchs.
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