'So as not to say I didn’t speak of flowers': Geographies of the everyday and of affects

And the geographer, having opened his notebook, sharpened his pencil.

'First the explorers’ accounts are written down in pencil. One waits, before going over them in ink, until the explorer has provided proof. So?' — asked the geographer.

'Oh! Where I live, said the little prince, it’s not very interesting: it’s very small. I have three volcanoes. Two active volcanoes and one extinct volcano. You never know…'

'You never know' — repeated the geographer.

'I also have a flower.'

'But we do not write down flowers' — said the geographer.

'Why not? It’s the most beautiful!'

'Because flowers are ephemeral.'

'What does ‘ephemeral’ mean?'

(Section XV of The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry)

When I began my doctoral project, I was guided by a very personal question. What was it about the community gardens I frequented in Brazil—spaces imagined for food production—that gave me the feeling of being in inclusive, caring places, and that led me through a process of inner transformation and political empowerment?

The doctorate followed its course, framed by methodological rigor and by the circumstances that made possible (and limited) fieldwork abroad. The dissertation—scientific per se—is also poetic and political. The non-linearity of my creative process was recorded in moments and memories that led me to gather some writings not included in it, but which were certainly necessary for it to be born.

While revisiting my experiences, I made an attempt to collect autoethnographic material (in 2020), excerpts of which I share below:

“The community garden became a place both to cultivate food and to share affection. As I adapted to my new post-separation living condition, visiting the garden helped me feel anchored. I found myself going to that space to fulfill my responsibilities as a volunteer, but also to release my emotions and (re)connect. Observing the cycles of nature over time, while caring for the plants, facilitated a healing process within me. Accepting that some of them die along the way also helped me understand and feel the impermanence of encounters. [Not only flowers are ephemeral] Working in a community garden where people engaged in coexisting in harmony with themselves, with the collective, and with the land was inspiring. This expanded my awareness of my personal choices and my social relationships. The connections I developed with the garden were reflected in a sense of security—having a space where I could express my vulnerabilities, reflect, question the status quo, and celebrate! We also committed ourselves to revisiting our relationship with food, sharing knowledge and fresh produce among ourselves and with the community. Growing regional foods, taking part in seed exchanges, learning to identify non-conventional edible plants (PANCs), and prioritizing family-farming initiatives were steps toward decolonizing our eating habits”.

In these excerpts, which bring me very fond memories and respect for that space, I see that—though not without negotiations and limitations—we put our word into motion: “Romã da Terra: a place for living together”.

Living with; sharing the journey. These memories, so alive in my body as well as in my research, continue to encourage me to understand the different dynamics that emerge from interacting with neighborhood gardens, given that understanding the origin of food, the time and dedication required to grow fruits and vegetables is fundamental to a broad awareness of the productive cycle, and of the relationships and benefits for humans and other beings.

Although community garden initiatives do not always guarantee food autonomy for volunteers or neighborhood residents, I believe the educational aspect of raising awareness and disseminating/demystifying knowledge is fundamental to the formation and critical reflection of those who interact with and co-create these spaces. As aptly defined by the Embrapa team, the “garden is a living organism”, in addition to being a democratic experience.

Whether in health clinics, schools, vacant lots, backyards, community centers, or small balconies, when there is willingness, any space can become a stage for transformative interactions. Even if reflections and changes in attitude occur subtly, on a micro scale, politics is made in everyday life.

Our bodies are political, as are the choices we make daily toward what we wish to manifest and make tangible in the environments we inhabit. And these choices—also influenced by the attraction or repulsion we feel toward places, people, and objects—are capable of co-creating affective atmospheres—which say a great deal about (our) nature. Hand in hand: “Come, let’s go, for waiting is not knowing / Those who know, make the gar[den], they don’t wait for it to happen” ("Pra não dizer que não falei das flores" [So as Not to Say I Didn’t Speak of Flowers], by Geraldo Vandré).

*Among my motivations for writing is the exchange with those who read. So I would like to have a dialogue. Could you please answer two quick questions?