This morning was another foggy Saturday, and a record twenty three vehicles lined the road as community members gathered to harvest fresh produce.

I spotted Evelyn picking yellow squash, Wayne gathering tomatoes, and young children enjoying fresh strawberries in the morning sun.

Down in the bean rows, my eighty year old father worked alongside Chad, who now had dark dirt under his fingernails that he no longer tried to scrub away.

When a new family arrived at the garden looking hesitant and unsure, Chad walked down the driveway with a friendly smile to welcome them, handing a metal bucket to a little boy who asked who the garden belonged to.

“It belongs to Mr.