She continued for forty years.
Then cancer took her.
Dad’s voice grew unsteady.
“Before she died, Marta made me promise I wouldn’t stop the Friday deliveries.”
He looked toward the garden.
“So I haven’t.”
I stood frozen on the porch, tears streaming down my face.
My mother had spent forty years helping hungry families, and somehow, I’d never understood the full extent of what she’d done.
Dad went on to explain that the garden fed roughly forty families each Saturday, with additional deliveries to eleven households and a local church food pantry.
Tyler stared at his clipboard.
Then he removed the partially completed violation notice.
He folded it and slipped it into his pocket.
“In my professional judgment,” he said, “this is one of the best-maintained properties I’ve ever inspected. I’m going to review the applicable community garden exemptions and help get this operation properly permitted.”
