Read by Matilda Longbottom

When my son Dan started kindergarten 23 years ago, parents decided to replace the old, lethal metal playground with modern wooden structures. The school, built in the 1960s on a capped landfill, definitely needed a facelift. I signed up to help with the landscaping, imagining myself as the leader of a glamorous garden squad.

Reality struck when the play equipment went in and the leftover budget for plants was barely enough to buy a houseplant. Enter Phil, a parent and landscape contractor, who offered plants at cost. I tweaked the city’s landscape plan, vetoing doomed hemlocks and adding my favorite dawn redwood. Planting day arrived, and I was ecstatic to see 40 young plants ready to transform the playground into a botanical paradise.

Then came the hard part—watering them through Summer. I optimistically asked for volunteers via Crickets, the PTO bulletin. Desperate, I begged eight good-hearted families to each take a week. As squad leader, I tried it first. One sweltering Sunday, I left the kids with my husband, grabbed the hose, and quickly learned that dragging 150 feet of hose around a playground is an extreme sport. By the end, I was a sweaty, muddy mess, praying I’d never have to do it again.

Our landscape maintenance found a rhythm. Every Fall, I’d send thank-yous to Summer waterers and polite reminders to parents about not mangling the plants. In Spring, we organized spruce-up days where parents and kids showed up with shovels and pruners. Our young maples blazed in Fall, and the dawn redwood thrived. The playground became a community hub, with kids and adults daily enjoying the space.

After three years, we declared the plants self-sufficient, and my involvement waned. When my daughter Eve graduated from fifth grade, I felt ready to pass the torch. Eileen and Laya, two energetic kindergarten moms, had big plans for a teaching garden, but no one stepped up for the trees and shrubs.

With my kids in middle school and beyond, I kept tabs on the playground while walking my dog, Nadia. I couldn’t let go, watering during droughts and pruning in my spare time. But invasives like ailanthus and bittersweet started winning the battle. Feeling like a failure, I ran into Lynn, who’d originally roped me into the project. She told me about a new playground initiative.

“Don’t worry,” Lynn reassured me. “They want to talk to you.”

At a meeting, Meg, one of the organizers, expressed her love for the existing plantings. She already had plans to protect them during construction. Teachers requested better visibility between the playground and blacktop, which meant thinning some shrubs. Meg, a fellow gardening enthusiast, offered to manage the invasives and organize pruning volunteers.

A few weeks later, the work was done. The shrubs had space to grow, and I felt relieved knowing the next generation would care for the plants. I learned that I didn’t have to do it all alone—community spirit is alive and well, even if it takes a hose-dragging adventure to realize it. ❖

About the Author: Rebecca Warner lives in Massachusetts, where she often feels like the Little Red Hen, doing everything herself. She writes a blog called “The Sustainable-Enough Garden” and is working on a book with the same title. Rebecca’s humorous take on gardening and community involvement is both inspiring and entertaining.