WE WERE ON OUR WAY HOME from another long workday. I sat in the middle seat of the station wagon next to Celia and closed my eyes while I rested my head on her shoulder. My job had changed from babysitter to appliance scrubber, and I was exhausted. It seemed like I had used every muscle in my body that day.
Mom’s voice interrupted my brief respite. “Who wants to go gardening?”
“We do!”
The mood in the car shifted immediately from sheer exhaustion to energized excitement.
Mom drove the few blocks to the Safeway grocery store, making her way to the rear parking lot and finally behind the building where the giant blue dumpster was located. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that only two spotlights were shining above the service entrance of the store. The other two bulbs must be burned out. My brother Hyrum and I were the designated “gardeners,” and the dimmer light would lessen our danger of being caught.
Mom swung a wide path in front of the dumpster next to the double doors where deliveries were received. With great precision, she backed up and stopped close to the dumpster. Heber jumped out of the passenger seat and opened the station wagon’s rear window, and we kids climbed out silently.
We knew the drill from previous excursions to various grocery stores. As stealthily as a SWAT team, we took our pre-appointed positions. Heber helped Hyrum and me up onto the tailgate of the station wagon. Then Heber and Sean lifted the heavy, metal lids of the dumpster. A stench immediately filled the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Celia covering her nose and mouth with her hand, and I flashed her a big grin. She rolled her eyes in return. Celia hated “gardening,” my family’s code name for dumpster diving. She couldn’t stand the smell or even the thought of rifling through garbage. But more than anything, she feared getting caught. I found everything about the experience exhilarating, but mostly I couldn’t wait to savor the spoils.
Before I knew it, Hyrum had hoisted himself up and over the top of the dumpster and disappeared from sight.
“You’re next,” Heber whispered. He squatted in front of the tailgate and hoisted me up until I could reach the edge of the dumpster opening. I swung my legs over and dropped inside.
My eyes adjusted quickly to the shadowy darkness inside the dumpster, and Hyrum and I got to work. We knew the rest of our family would serve as lookouts and signal if someone walked or drove by, or far worse, if someone from the store came out the service entrance. The exit plan was always the same —find a place to hide either inside or outside the dumpster.
I found a wide, flat box of overripe oranges. I leaned in for a quick whiff of the sweet-smelling fruit before I hefted the box over my head to Heber, who was standing next to the container. Hyrum and I worked quickly, sifting through packaging, old newspapers, boxes, and bins to find anything salvageable to eat.
“Anna!” Hyrum hissed with excitement.
“Shhh!” I reprimanded him for being too loud.
“I found a crate you’re going to want to see.” He held it proudly at waist level, his eyes beckoning me to take a peek.
“This had better be worth it,” I muttered, as I picked my way over a couple of mounds of garbage.
“It is.”
I peered into the box. Ice cream. I placed my hand on one of the two cartons. Not exactly freezing, but still cold. I grinned at Hyrum. “I hope one of them is chocolate.”
Hyrum stacked up some boxes from the crate and carefully leaned over the top of the dumpster and handed them to Heber.
I found a couple of gallon containers of milk in a corner. They were past the expiration dates, but so was most everything in the dumpster. As Mom said, those labels were guidelines the government required; they didn’t mean the food was bad —just that the store couldn’t legally sell them anymore. Why should we let it go to waste? We didn’t mind eating around the bruised spots in a banana or downing yogurt that tasted a little tangier than what most people enjoyed. These buried treasures added variety to our meager and mundane diet. Scraping my legs on the corroded metal and getting rust on my hands while going in and out of the dumpster was a small sacrifice for usually a big payoff.
I continued my search. Suddenly I stepped on something squishy and knew I’d found something good. I backed up a step, squatted, and peered into the darkness. Bananas! I loved the sweet smell and taste of overripe bananas, though truthfully, I’d never eaten a perfectly ripe one in my life. I tossed aside the two that I’d accidentally squashed when I stepped on them, but then I picked up the rest of the bananas to pass over the opening to Heber.
Right at that moment, I heard a hushed warning. Someone was coming! Hyrum and I hunkered down. I hoped whoever had interrupted our mission wouldn’t catch us stealing. I was looking forward to the bananas and the half-melted ice cream.
“It’s okay,” Heber whispered. “It was just a car going by. No one saw us.” Thank goodness. Although it had never happened yet, I knew that Mom would have to drive off and temporarily leave us in the dumpster if someone surprised her.
All in all, it was a good night of gardening. Hyrum and I had harvested two large boxes of apples, oranges, and bananas, two six-packs of yogurt, three gallons of milk, several cartons of sour cream and cottage cheese, and —of course —the coveted box that contained two half-gallons of ice cream.
Hyrum hoisted me to the top of the dumpster, and I grabbed Heber’s hands to be guided back onto the tailgate of the station wagon. The ten of us squeezed back into the car, holding large boxes on our laps for the drive home. A variety of smells permeated the car, and we chattered about what we would eat first.
Because we had found the ice cream, Hyrum and I were heroes. Although it was strawberry instead of chocolate, it was delicious. We passed the containers around in the car and took turns drinking the half-melted treat, finishing it all before we got home.
Once there, we each carried boxes into the tiny kitchen. Mom and Teresa quickly doled out the containers of yogurt, and Celia handed out spoons. During the handoff, my spoon clattered to the dirty floor. I didn’t care. I picked it up, wiped it on my even filthier jeans, and waited for my yogurt.
My family and I devoured everything that night, except for a couple of cartons of sour cream and cottage cheese. Both would be great on sandwiches the following day, enhancing the bean and mayonnaise combination. We didn’t go gardening as much as I would have liked, only a couple of times a week, but when the opportunity came, I always rose to the occasion.