Page 5 of Chasing Sunsets

“Fine. You go on to the bank and come right back,” she huffs.

I kiss her on the cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tabby

Three Months Later

The scent of salt and damp earth fills my lungs as I kneel in the sand, pressing my hands against the wooden frame of the raised bed. Pete granted me permission to use the empty spot between my site and the common area to plant a community garden.

The early morning breeze tugs at my ponytail, and the rhythmic crashing of the waves nearby accompanies me as I work. The campground is quiet at this time of day with only a few gulls squabbling over a forgotten bag of chips near the picnic tables.

I run my fingers along the weathered wood, checking the joints one last time. These beds took longer to build than I expected. Between scavenging driftwood for some of the side panels and making multiple supply runs into town, I began to wonder if I would ever finish them. But here they are—three sturdy rectangular beds nestled in the sandy clearing beside my RV.

I sit back on my heels and glance over at my home on wheels. The exterior shines in the sun, and my tiny herb garden stillclings to the small window shelf I installed. The RV has been my safe haven, my escape, my adventure, but lately, I’ve felt the need for something stabler—something that feels grounded. Maybe that’s why I started this project. Perhaps that’s why I’ve been spending all my free time measuring, cutting, and hammering. I need to put down roots, even if they are just vegetable roots for now.

I pick up a bag of soil from the pile and carefully cut it open with my pocketknife. The rich scents of compost and peat fill the air as I pour the soil into the first garden bed, smoothing it out with my gloved hands. It takes a few more bags to fill the bed completely, and by the time I’m finished, the sun is high in the sky, causing sweat to cling to the back of my neck.

I pause to wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my wrist and take a sip from my water bottle. This whole project began with a simple impulse—I wanted to grow a few vegetables to save money. Before I knew it, I found myself tripping over mismatched pots inside my RV, questioning why I was still keeping them contained when there was so much space around me. That was when the idea of sharing fresh tomatoes, crisp lettuce, and plump squash with other campers came to mind.

I duck inside the RV, stepping carefully around the bags of fertilizer and spare planks of wood still cluttering the space. The pots are lined up on my counter, their leaves stretching toward the sunlight filtering through the window above the sink. I run my fingers over the basil, its spicy scent clinging to my skin. The tomato plants have already started forming tiny green fruits, and the cucumber vines are tangled around the makeshift trellis I set up a few weeks ago.

I carefully carry them outside, one by one. As I dig each hole, I press their roots into their new home. I hum softly while I work, singing an old song my grandmother used to sing while gardening. She had a special way of making things grow, even instubborn and rocky soil. Perhaps I inherited that talent from her—I like to think I did.

The first tomato plant goes in, followed by another. I space out the cucumbers and tuck the lettuce into the shadier side of the bed. The squash gets its own corner, its broad leaves already stretching wide, greedy for the sun. By the time I finish, my hands are caked with dirt, my knees are sore from kneeling, and my stomach is growling in protest.

I push myself to my feet, brushing off the dirt, and I take a step back to admire my work. One bed is complete with the plants settled into their new home. I need to take a few more trips into town to purchase more items to fill the other two. It’s a slow process when you’re on a bicycle, as I can only fit two or three plants in the basket at a time.

This project makes me feel settled. The RV was meant to represent freedom, and Sandcastle Cove wasn’t a place I expected to get attached to. However, this little garden and this beach feel right. It’s starting to feel like home.

A gust of wind carries the aroma of rich, wet soil around me, and I close my eyes, letting it settle inside my chest. Maybe I don’t have to have all the answers yet. Maybe it’s okay to plant something and see what happens.

For now, that’s enough.

“Good morning, Tabby.”

I look up to see Pete approaching me.

“Good morning!” I call back.

“Wow, your garden looks amazing,” he says as he inspects it.

“Thank you! I think so too. I’m planning to head into town to get more plants and some additional soil to fill it out. We should have a great harvest and be able to enjoy the fruits of our labor all summer,” I reply.

“Freda is going to be so pleased,” he says. “She’s always wanted a garden.”

“Can I borrow the bike to go to the market again today?” I ask.

“You can, but if you want to take my pickup, you’re welcome to,” he offers.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! I don’t know how you managed to haul all those sacks of dirt on that bike last time. My legs would have fallen off,” he says with a laugh.

I’ve definitely been gaining some muscles lately.

“I appreciate that. I’m going to get cleaned up, and then I’ll head out.”

“Just come by to grab the keys and some breakfast when you’re ready,” he says.

---