Lettuce Do Less

A short story for all the hard workers I know and love

In the fall of 2023, I started living part-time in Venice, CA, an eclectic neighborhood in Los Angeles named after the canals in Venice, Italy. Venice, California's canals (in comparison) are tiny and make up a small portion of Venice, and I love the diversity of this town’s inhabitants. You’ll find modern multi-million-dollar homes interspersed with 2-story buildings with apartments for rent. A high-end bakery called Gjusta sells loaves of Teff bread, the only gluten-free bread I eat. It’s only a block from the Venice Skills Center for adult ed and ESL classes. Around the corner, a round-bellied bald man runs a barbershop out of his garage. And there's that small cottage with an outdoor patio that maintains a hodgepodge of mismatched cushioned chairs for AA meetings during cocktail hour.

Numerous homeless encampments have stuck to the streets around Venice, especially outside the brick-walled exterior of the discreetly sign-less YouTube offices. Between the encampments and the blasting southern CA sunshine, I’ve often avoided Venice altogether and walked north up a slight hill to a tree-lined stretch in Santa Monica with a canopy of giant Ficus trees that offer ample shade and a reprieve from the heat. I feel like I can breathe when I take daily walks on tree-lined streets. I miss the tall redwoods of the SF Bay Area and my hikes through the lush nature of Northern California.

Imagine my delight when I learned that a group of volunteers was planting trees on the sidewalks of Venice. I’d already noticed a patch of California poppies and other newly planted natives next to what used to be the grittiest parking lot in town. When I saw the cardboard layer beneath a layer of mulch, I knew someone knew what they were doing. It was a tiny oasis that offered a glimmer of hope in what Malcolm Gladwell would describe as a broken windows kind of place.

I missed gardening the first Saturday because my nose was to the grindstone editing my Somatic Intelligence book. And I begrudgingly dragged myself out of bed the following Saturday. I grabbed my garden gloves, hat, and hand shovels and walked the seven blocks to this week's planting zone. It was just past a public park with a chain-link fence. The street was barren, grey concrete and naked telephone poles—the perfect place to adorn with five baby oak trees.

As I walked, I was mildly nervous. I was the newbie who would have to work the crowd and make friends alone. It’s been several years since the pandemic ended, but I still find myself awkwardly out of practice in social settings. After a few hellos, I grabbed a tall shovel, weaved through the volunteers waiting for someone to tell them what to do, and reached the end of the block to dig the fifth hole. Others joined me. A mere 90 minutes later, all five trees were in the ground, new acquaintances were made, and I found a broom and began sweeping the sidewalk to clear displaced dirt. After goodbyes and thanks to the organizers, I started my satisfying walk home. So much was accomplished, and it was barely 10 a.m.!

As I neared home, I was on a high and unusually chatty as I greeted dog walkers and random strangers up for a morning stroll. I stood taller and at ease, now belonging in this place. My lens had changed. This didn’t feel like a sketchy and dangerous place. I was outgoing, connected, happy, and hopeful. I was primed for the magic that was about to happen.

Because I had been tending and beautifying sidewalks, I noticed one of many raised wooden garden beds that a different group of volunteers had planted years earlier. As I looked down at a patch of gravel surrounding one of the old, raised garden beds, I saw what seemed to be weeds. But as I drew closer, they were round, reddish-green petals of beautiful butter lettuce! Inside the box was a ring of mature lettuce heads, and scattered outside the box were roughly three dozen baby butter lettuces from last year’s untended lettuce.

My eyes dazzled, seeing nature’s abundance scattered in the gravel. For the past two months, I had been trying to grow lettuce seedlings indoors in small seed trays that I painstakingly spritzed with water and tended under grow lights. I’d spent hours trying to produce a handful of baby seedlings. Despite all my efforts, I had only one sad-looking red lettuce seedling to show for it. And here, with no human intervention, nature had done all the work. The lettuce was gleaming with vitality.

I kept walking and grinning, contemplating what to do next. When I got home, I saw weeds outside my own home (that had been invisible to me earlier). I quickly grabbed a bucket and crouched down to dig them out individually.

With a shovel, a container, and a layer of sunscreen still on my face, I thought, what the heck! Why not? I’ll go back and ask if I can dig up their lettuce. Now, remember my introverted self, who was still an outsider to Venice, would never have done such a crazy thing. As I neared the house of lettuce, two black wolf-like dogs sat like ominous guardians in front of the house. But as I got closer, their tails wagged, and I saw that the front door to the home was wide open. “Knock knock,” I said, barely louder than my normal voice.

A 20-something young woman with a delicate, kind face appeared and came to greet me at the outer gate. I’m Rebecca. I ventured. I couldn’t help but notice all the gorgeous baby lettuce growing here…
Would you like some? She offered. Please take as much as you want. She and the dogs watched curiously as I moved toward the lettuce. Thanks to the recent rain, I began to dig gently into the gravel and eased little lettuce plants with little effort. I cleared out weeds in equal parts as a token of gratitude. Minutes later, the young woman’s father greeted me, and we started chatting. He does organizational development and trains leaders and teams. Of all the people in this town, how likely would it be to meet someone in the same profession as me? I promised to return with rangpur limes from our trees, and the next day, I did.

Magic happened because my head and heart were aligned. A small amount of effort yielded a massive return: joy, friendship, a sense of belonging, and free food!

The hard worker archetype can seem elusive to crack. But relax. Be selective, invest in what you love, and see where the magic takes you.