The San Francisco BART stopped at the Glen Park station and I was surprised to see a crowd of people standing outside the doors. Usually, when I catch BART to this station for a volunteer day at Alemany Farms on Alemany Boulevard in South San Francisco, I’m one of the few people there.

I pushed through the crowd and walked up the long staircase until I reached the top of the underground where I tagged myself out and waited to be picked up by my two friends who had prompted this most recent volunteer outing. 

Rather than the community farm volunteering that we normally do, this Saturday, we would be helping replant native plants along the outskirts of the farmland. 

After a short five-minute (or less) drive to the farm, we parked and walked over to where the small group of volunteers waited. We wrote our names on masking tape and then gathered together where a tall man in work pants stood ready to lead us in the activity alongside a woman with short white hair. 

The group of volunteers consisted of school-aged children (high school or perhaps their first year of college), some older women likely in their sixties, and my two friends and I. We all wore jeans or some type of workout pant with a rain jacket to shield us from the light drizzle that had started to threaten our day. 

“It’s not raining,” our leader said with an ironic grin, “it’s just heavy fog.”

Rain had not been in the forecast, but unless it was storming, our volunteer work would continue. 

Learning about the battle against invasive plant species:

We followed him up past the rows of produce that we normally worked on up onto a small plateau at the base of the hill which makes up the back half of the property. The plot of land is owned by the city but the farm relies on volunteers to keep it healthy, running, and productive—with the produce it produces going to the surrounding community as well as others who need it through farm stands. 

At the small plateau, we watched as our leader pointed out the native wildflowers that still bloomed in the area as well as the non-native, invasive plants that were threatening to take over the area. 

“We’re fighting a losing battle,” he said, standing from a crouched position where he’d been pointing out the small plants that volunteers had planted earlier. He was referring to our attempts at keeping native plants in the area while removing the native grasses—something that, apparently, would never be able to happen on its own, “but we’re trying to lose as slowly as possible.”

Now that’s a life motto, I thought to myself. It was, at least, a great way to set expectations. 

After the quick lesson in what we were doing and why, we trudged up the incline to stand on the sloping hills of the property. 

Preparing the landscape for new native plants:

Using action hoes and hori horis, we began by removing as much of the invasive weeds as we could from the side of the hill. 

Then, we watched as our leader showed us how to dig a hole in the side of the mountain, deep enough to come up to the head of the native grasses and other small plants that we would be adding into the landscape. Then, we watched as he pulled the plant back out of the ground, releasing its roots with his hands, before placing it back into the small dirt hole. 

Once back inside the little dirt hole, he covered it back up with soil than used his hands and the hori hori to dig a well around it so that any water from their hoses or rain water would follow the circular moat shape and irrigate correctly. 

This is where I, of course, lost myself a bit because I was convince the little grass tuft that shot out of the earth looked like the top of a troll’s head and I then began to refer to the entire process as digging troll homes for native troll plant babies…

Despite losing my sense of reality—as well as almost losing my sense of balance as my calves strained on the incline of the hill—I was able to work and plant for the first hour, happily creating new homes for these little troll grasses.

We took a short break halfway through the two-hour session to grab water (if we hadn’t brought our own) and use the restroom at the nearby park. 

Anthropomorphising strawberry plants:

Then we finished planting and headed back down the steep hill to the plateau we’d started on. A group of volunteers had remained down there, replanting native trees and smaller plants (alternating in height to give the area variety), then laying down a layer of straw to help keep the new plants warm and destressed.

We helped finish their planting and once again, I was anthropomorphizing as two strawberry plants seemed to be holding hands with their runners (the part that looks like vines) entangled with each other. 

Pulling myself away from the romance of these plants, I chatted with an older woman who was enjoying her first time volunteering with Alemany Farms before joining my friends and heading back to BART. 

I had learned a lot from this experience: 

1. Sometimes it’s worth fighting a losing battle if it means the “good guy” loses more slowly

2. Rain is just heavy fog

3. Once a native plant is planted, it doesn’t need to much maintenance because it was naturally made to be in that environment

4. Grass can sometimes look like baby trolls

5. It feels good to dig in soil, and even better knowing you’re helping a community