| Main Feature Story - Friday, July 13, 2007
Feature: So grow the gardeners
Beth Waitkus is helping San Quentin's H-Unit cultivate the garden within
by Tanya Henry
It's Friday afternoon at 2:30pm. As many as 25 men are meandering in to one of a handful of classrooms that surround San Quentin's medium-security H-Unit (predominantly for repeat offenders and parole violators) to learn about tending the prison's 1,200-square-foot organic garden. Beth Waitkus, founder and volunteer director of the nearly 5-year-old Insight Garden Program has had to turn away inmates from her hugely popular elective, as the maximum number of prisoners she is equipped to teach is 30.
Somewhat lanky, with spiked blond hair, the 46-year-old program director exudes an easy confidence—a certain comfort in her own skin. Although vigilant in her role of escorting press around the grounds of a maximum security prison, not a trace of fear is evident in Waitkus's sure and purposeful stride. The one-time high-tech professional and Pepperdine graduate visited the prison five years ago and knew that one day "she would plant a garden there." Her careful advocacy of a program to which she has committed countless hours, days and years is clearly not something she wants misunderstood or exploited. At times she displays an almost fierce protectiveness of the inmates, whom she refers to as "the guys."
She believes, passionately, that what she is doing is changing lives.
"Today we'll start with a poem," begins Waitkus, as the men pull chairs into a circular seating arrangement. She has chosen "To Look at Any Thing" by John Moffitt, a piece thick with metaphor:
To look at any thing,
If you would know that thing,
You must look at it long;
To look at the green and say,
'I have seen spring in these
Woods' will not do—you must
Be the thing you see...
There is silence and Waitkus continues with an excerpt from a book titled A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose: "Seeing beauty in a flower could awaken humans, however briefly, to the beauty that is an essential part of their own innermost being, their true nature...." The men listen attentively—no uncomfortable laughter or fidgeting from this group—they're drinking it in.
Waitkus appears to enjoy her role as lead class facilitator. She exudes a warmth and sense of camaraderie with the inmates. Her teaching style is void of any condescension or judgment—she's genuine, generous and the men respond to her inclusive style that encourages participation from everyone, but doesn't demand it. There's a slight buzz in the air—the presence of a photographer and journalist, though not uncommon, seems to create some excitement. Waitkus recaps their previous week's meeting, which included a visit from a nutritionist who spoke of the importance of chemical-free, organic foods and the healthy benefits of organic gardening. She asks if anyone remembers what was discussed the previous class. Hands go up. "We wouldn't have to eat in the chow room if we could eat organic food grown close by—we wouldn't need to use the fuel to import it from far away," offers a young, goatee-sporting inmate. This generates chuckles and lots of nodding heads. "We learn respect for the food," chimes in another.
In collaboration with San Quentin, the Insight Garden Program was launched in the fall of 2002 and implemented in December 2003 as part of the Insight Prison Project (IPP), an organization dedicated to helping inmates learn to respond—rather than react—to difficult situations. It's to help them stay out of prison. It was former warden Jeanne Woodford (she left San Quentin after 25 years in 2004) who is credited with bringing the "Stand Up" program (formerly the Success Program) to San Quentin. According to the prison's Web site, this innovative vision is "a collaboration between San Quentin and the Insight Prison Project in supporting prisoners to break their cycle of incarceration. The program offers classes such as Waitkus's aimed at re-educating inmates while preparing them for successful re-entry into society upon their release." Only prisoners who will eventually be paroled (not lifers or those on death row) have access to these classes. They also must be prequalified for the program, which is determined by prison staff, and then they are housed in a specific dorm in the prison's H-Unit. As many as 350 men have participated in the Insight Garden Project since its inception.
The community-based project includes frequent speakers. Kevin Sadlier, owner of Green Jeans Garden Supply in Mill Valley, recalls being invited for the first time to the gardening class three years ago. "I had a lot of fun doing it," he says and is now a regular, joining Waitkus for her Friday classes as often as three times a month. "I feel like it is a way to give these guys a little bit of hope. I also feel very strongly about organic gardening and I hope they will leave with a little bit of knowledge they didn't have before," says Sadlier. Sadlier's life is busy as a nursery owner; being at the prison with the inmates allows him to detach from his everyday stress and calm his mind. Along with Sadlier, San Rafael-based hypnotherapist John Pateros makes up the rest of the program's core team. On this day both are present and the final exercise before heading out to the garden is a meditation led by Pateros, who offers his healing method of "process coaching" to the class. He describes his approach as something that can help others achieve a deep emotional healing and true wholeness of being. "Everyone plant your feet on the ground and close your eyes," begins Pateros, a soft-spoken man with friendly eyes and a warm smile. The men seem eager for such ritual—they're all engaged. After a few minutes of quiet sitting, Pateros ends with a Gandhi quote: "Be the change that you want to see in the world." The class heads outside.
• • • •
EVEN ON THIS warm, dazzling Marin day it's still gray at San Quentin. A hot dustiness rises from the "yard" and blue- or orange-clad inmates (strict dress codes prohibit visitors from wearing either of these colors) wander throughout the enclosed grounds where all that can be seen are rows of identical, monochromatic buildings, one after another, guard towers, high metal fences and asphalt. And then tucked into one corner of the prison grounds is a small patch of earth, spotted with color and spikes of dark-green African grass.
An honest-to-goodness garden.
It is a surprising sight and one that has quite likely inspired at least one person to think, if not utter, "How can something so vigorous and beautiful grow in a place like this?" It is this very question that Waitkus is committed to answering, for she believes that not only can plants grow in prison, but people can, too. "The basic model for our program is based on the belief that by connecting with nature, you connect to yourself, and by connecting to yourself there is a better chance of reconnecting to others," explains Waitkus, who believes effective rehabilitation must include educational, vocational and behavioral training.
Her class includes both vocational instruction and what she refers to as "life skills." The theory behind the project's approach of "reconnecting through nature" is that gardening is filled with opportunities for personal development. She contends that because nature cultivates awareness, the men learn to respond rather than react—hence, they become more productive when they leave prison. And while she is certain the inmates will gain much from her classes, it is her bigger hope that many of them will take the organic, sustainable gardening skills they have learned to the outside and secure jobs that will allow them to apply their newfound abilities and knowledge. And, assures Sadlier, "This isn't just a case of green washing"—these men are getting some good information.
"Mulch keeps moisture in the soil and it mitigates weed growth," Sadlier offers as an example of the pertinent information being espoused. Sadlier has long been at the forefront of the sustainability movement and has been walking his talk for over 20 years, the last 10-1/2 at his Mill Valley nursery; he goes on to explain that while weeding is important, you still need some weeds to keep balance in the garden or else pests will come back. Sadlier, with his well-tanned face and spry frame, chats easily with the prisoners. He, like Waitkus, seems genuinely committed to helping enhance the lives of these men. "Try and learn the names of the plants. Remember, knowledge is power. If you can rattle off the Latin names of plants—that's impressive," he offers, amid chuckles from some of the men. Sadlier also reminds them that we all come from a heritage of gardening—one race of hunters and gatherers. He reinforces this regularly in the hopes of teaching compatibility and giving the men a sense of belonging and connectedness.
But what do the inmates think of the garden? Many have left San Quentin and returned, while others have been a part of the project since its inception four years ago. "It is the only place on the whole yard that is neutral [no racial segregation]," says Ron, who also refers to the space as a free-zone. "You don't feel like you're in prison."
"Just looking at the garden connects me to the earth and de-stresses me," says Patrick, who proudly identifies various flowers and grasses that he helped plant. Tulio says he is going to rip out his own lawn at his South San Francisco home and put in a new irrigation system, organic mulch and use the sustainable gardening skills he has learned. When asked if he might want to work as a gardener or landscaper on the outside, he shook his head and explained that he was hoping to find a job in the computer industry when he is paroled next April.
Michael says the garden helps him get in touch with himself. "When you take away the props—you have to face yourself," he reflects. It is not difficult to understand why a small patch of 1,200 square feet with the only discernible color and life could elicit these kinds of responses. Mostly native plants make up the open, borderless plot, and many of them were donated by well-wishers. Robust sprays of lavender line a short tidy path that goes directly through the garden. Stalks of irises add splashes of white and purple to the landscape. Even a medicinal Echinacea plant thrives amid tufts of various dark-green grasses and a regal, dusty-red rosebush flourishes. Clearly the place has been tended with care—it's vibrant and a stark contrast to the dun-colored buildings and barren terrain just steps away in any direction. Still, it is difficult to forget you're in a maximum security prison and certain precautions are enforced.
Every plant that comes on to the grounds must be approved by a Custody Captain who is primarily concerned that plants not exceed a certain height so that no one can hide amid the foliage. On workdays in the garden, tools are strictly tracked and returned at the end of each class session. And, ironically, according to prison policy, no food is to be grown—as all food consumed by inmates must be USDA approved.
• • • •
WAITKUS'S PROJECT IS now at the point where she is trying to add "the missing piece"—what happens on the outside? She has an ambitious plan in place that will include not only the collecting of data following the prisoners' release, but she also hopes to double the size of the garden, plant edible food, hire a nutritionist to provide ongoing education about the healthy connection to growing organic plants and, within the next two years, if all goes well, the men will have access to the prison's greenhouse.
Of course, this all takes money and resources and, though daunting, Waitkus remains tireless and optimistic. She is working with a group of volunteers from UC Davis who are conducting research on funding opportunities, potential agriculture and environment connections at other universities, and are also exploring employment opportunities in gardening, landscaping and "green jobs" for men leaving prison. She is encouraged by what she describes as "a slow shift taking place among prison staff away from punishment and more awareness around rehabilitation." She has specific praise for the current warden, Robert Ayers, who she says is a big promoter of programs such as hers and would like to see one entire dorm dedicated purely to programming.
Eric Messick, San Quentin's Public Information Officer, admits that the entire IPP is an ambitious one—especially as it applies to what happens on the outside. "Many of the nearly 15 nonprofits that partner with the prison to offer classes are also working on an 18-month aftercare criteria, which includes finding mentors for the parolees." Messick is well aware the prison has a reputation for its superior programming, so much so that inmates in penitentiaries statewide request placement at San Quentin in the hopes of participating in the many rehabilitative classes offered. Messick is quick to credit the 400 to 500 volunteers who come to the prison on a weekly basis to administer their programs to inmates. No other prison in the state can match San Quentin's remarkable rate of volunteerism, which was last counted at 3,400 folks who provide everything from parenting classes to meditation.
Witnessing firsthand the commitment by the professional and dedicated folks behind the garden project, an undeniable truth emerges—prisons located in areas such as Marin stand to benefit hugely from a talented and willing pool of generous volunteers. Although our prison system suffers from many ills, programs like the Insight Garden Project plant a seed of hope—hope of chipping away at the staggering 70 percent recidivism rate that shames the nation and keeps the prisons overcrowded, while perpetuating a cycle of violence and crime.
It is because of people like Beth Waitkus that one day we might be purchasing our organic, Sun Gold cherry tomatoes from an ex-con-turned-gardener at the farmers market. Or maybe we will receive some expert advice at our local nursery from a helpful salesman who might advise us against using harmful pesticides in our vegetable gardens. But until enough of us believe, as Waitkus does, that people can change, that those who have offended should give back and that society should support people committed to change, that day may never come.
How to help
The Insight Garden Program at San Quentin relies on donations of services, supplies and funds for its operation. Visit www.insightgardenprogram.org to make an online contribution, or send donations to: The Agape Foundation, 1095 Market Street, Suite 304, San Francisco, CA 94103, noting Insight Garden Program.
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