© Provided by LA Times. Manuel Jimenez talks with volunteer Tim Diaz about guava harvesting at Woodlake Botanical Gardens. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed)"An unplowed field is a sin."
— John Steinbeck
In the foothills of the Sierra, where square after square of industrial farmland is planted in neat rows, an unusual, winding, spiraling garden grows.
Three species of guava, papaya, banana, jujube—fruits that speak of a distant homeland—thrive in the 13-acre Woodlake Botanical Garden, nestled between a road and a reservoir on a narrow stretch of land that was once a railroad. ran. Gone No chemicals are used here. Visitors can pick whatever fruit they see and sit in places of shade deep enough to keep them cool in the heat of summer and dry out during the rare rains.
Every inch of fuel water matters and will soon need to be protected. But founders Olga and Manuel Jimenez say that even in a state of deepening drought and conflicting needs, there's an upside: a magical space cared for by volunteers from Woodlake's children and teens for 30 years. To remind us of the garden's true purpose, Manuel adorned the walkways with panels of quotes.
“If you want a happy year, plant cereals. If you want 10 years of prosperity, grow trees. If you want 100 years of prosperity, lift up the people."
- Chinese proverb
© (Tomas Ovalle / For The Times) Manuel Jiménez looks out over the Canadian crossing as he opens the doors of the Woodlake Botanical Gardens. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed) 
© (Tomas Ovalle / For The Times) Woodlake Botanical Garden. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed)Hamida Mohammed, 17, and Alexandra Martinez, 16, were working in the garden last Saturday. They have been inseparable since the day Alexandra showed up at school as a new girl, because she decided that being a new girl was scary.
Hamida, who arrived this year from Yemen, wore a pink hijab. She speaks Arabic, Spanish and Chinese but is still learning English. Her father owns the popular eatery Woodlake Drive-In, where Jimenez often buys lunch for his volunteers.
Olga showed the girls how to choose the right roses and immediately entered their lives.
"Tell me, Mia , will your father let you go to college?" Will he let you go with you? she asked Hamid. "Many Mexican girls can tell you that I spoke to their father about women being independent and I know your father."
Hamida smiled and said, "I'm going to college."
She used the translation app on her phone to write down her plans: "My dream is to be a director, screenwriter, director and cameraman."
Meanwhile, Manuel loaded a group of boys into an old pickup truck and drove them a mile through an orchard, past apple and citrus trees, and into a wild and overgrown area. He ordered 17-year-old Alonso Velazquez to hand out bags of weed and show the other boys how to use it.
“I knew right away that Alonso is the leader,” Manuel said. “Because when the job was finished, he asked: “What will happen next ?” - does not ask.
© (Tomas Ovalle / For The Times) Manuel Jiménez leads volunteer Alonso Velasquez, 17, through Woodlake Botanical Gardens. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed) 
© (Tomas Ovalle / For The Times) Kevin Perez, 15, Rodrigo Cruz Perez, 17, Gilberto Gonzalez, 15, and Uriel Rios, 15, laugh at Woodlake Botanical Garden. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed)During the summers, he worked on the family's avocado farm in the Mexican state of Michoacán. Two years ago, he said, he was kidnapped by a cartel officer and hid in the woods for three days. But a more powerful cartel intervened and helped his family find him after paying a ransom.
“The different cards are very similar to how Manuel fights pests in the garden,” Alonso said.
Everything that grows here attracts all known pests, but the garden also attracts all natural pest predators to strike a balance.
Manuel studied horticulture at Fresno State and spent 30 years as a small farm consultant at the University of California before retiring nine years ago. He led efforts to grow exotic crops in the San Joaquin Valley and played a key role in establishing blueberry production in the region.
But, perhaps, the greatest gift for him and for Olga is the gift of the storyteller.
© (Tomas Ovalle / For The Times) Manuel and Olga Jimenez at Woodlake Botanical Gardens. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed)“The whole time you are with them, they tell stories. There are funny and stupid stories. And there's one more thing you really need to remember," said 18-year-old Karem Barretto, who recently added purple streaks to his black hair.
"Hey, did you notice that Karem is deficient in phosphorus?" Manuel teased him, alluding to a flaw that caused the leaves of some plants to turn purple.
The Barrett family moved from Los Angeles to Woodlake when she was in seventh grade.
“Suddenly we were out of town,” she recalls. She remembers being almost afraid to be outside.
“My parents are very careful and were not sure if my sisters and I would go to kindergarten. But then they met Manuel and Olga and said, "Oh, as long as you're with them, you're fine." She now combines her volunteer work in the garden with her studies at Sequoia College, a community college in Visalia. She plans to become a teacher for children with special needs.
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© (Tomas Ovalle / For The Times) Olga Jimenez talks about volunteers at Woodlake Botanical Gardens. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed)Manuel and Olga grew up in this Tulare County town of 7,708 when it was half its size. The screensaver on Manuel's phone is a photograph of their high school sweethearts in 1968.
They came from families of agricultural workers, and the children of these families were often sent to extracurricular activities.
The talented student Olga decided that this would not happen to her.
One day, she and her family returned after classes started. She had no idea that Olga was transferred to an English class, which, as you know, is intended for "slow" students.
She went to refresher courses, which she signed up for. The administration told him that there were no vacancies. She said she would sit on the floor. They told him they couldn't let him sit on the floor.
She said, "Then you'll have to bring me a table," and they did. Olga continued her education in Fresno.
© (Tomas Ovalle/For The Times) A flock of pelicans lives in Lake Bravo, near Woodlake Botanical Gardens. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed) 
© (Tomas Ovalle / For The Times) A spider in a web at Woodlake Botanical Gardens. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed)Barretto, after listening to Olga's story, nodded. - Do you see it? she said. "It's a matter of determination. It's one of those things you have to remember."
Manuel has almost always worn a camera around his neck since he was a teenager, and the garden is filled with photographs of volunteers over the years.
Manuel held up one, which showed a plump-cheeked teenager. According to him, the boy had good parents and he showed leadership qualities, but he was recruited into the group in high school.
“He shot two people,” Manuel said, looking at the photo. “Two people have died and he spends the rest of his life in prison. We didn't save everyone."
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“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful and dedicated citizens can change the world; in fact, it is the only one that has ever been.
-Margaret Meade
Woodlake Botanical Garden was born out of another power struggle. In the early 1970s, the Jiménez family, newly married and determined to improve the poor areas of the city, involved children and teenagers in beautification projects. The wall of the old bar was covered in gangster and illegal graffiti and the owner agreed to let them paint over it.
Olga and Manuel gave each teenager a part of the wall to paint.
© (Tomas Ovalle / For The Times) Manuel Jiménez answers the phone at Woodlake Botanical Gardens. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed)It was the time of the Delano vineyard strike that shook the power structure in the region. The teenager drew " ras " ("people") and raised his fist. Another added the United Farm Workers symbol.
The all-white city council sent police to enforce the cease and desist order and said they would paint over the near-finished mural.
Manuel sought help from California Rural Legal Aid.
It was a hot topic, and that week members of the community gathered for a city council meeting. Old friends, even Mexican families, were angry at Olga and Manuel. “Why are you sowing trouble in our city? asked a close friend.
The city executive committee said that the picture violated the rules of the sign, after which they announced the end of the meeting. Then the CRLA lawyer stood up.
“I know that you have declared this meeting over, but you must resume it, otherwise there will be a federal case on freedom of speech tomorrow,” Manuel recalled. The council worked behind closed doors. The mayor came out, announced that the fresco would remain, scored and left.
In the end, Jiménez and the city were able to negotiate a more amicable alliance. In 1999, when Woodlake received the barren land through a federal grant, the couple agreed to turn it into a permanent garden with their group of young volunteers, whom they named Woodlake Pride. The city will provide water and insurance.
The initial capital for equipment and plans came from Everett Krakow, the owner of a local olive processing plant. As a teenager, Manuel worked in a factory, but left after being yelled at by Krakow for being slow.
© (Tomas Ovalle / For The Times) Lake Bravo is adjacent to Woodlake Botanical Gardens. (Thomas Ovalle / Timed)Years later, Krakow visited one of the first Woodlake Pride projects and asked Manuel if he was feeding volunteer children. Manuel said that sometimes members of the community bake cookies.
Krakow gave Manuel a check for $500 for lunch. The account opened with this money is still used to pay for lunches after work - the account is owned by the official non-profit organization Woodlake Pride.
Around the same time they purchased the land, Bank of America closed its Woodlake branch. Krakow, who knew how to grab people by the throat, called the regional office and told officials that he had left the community and the least they could do was support the project. Woodlake Pride received a $10,000 donation from the bank.
Sooner or later, most townspeople spend time in the garden. That day, a young couple sat under an apple tree and secretly looked at each other's knees. Two cousins walked with two dogs. A visitor from Orange County thanked her and put the money in a donation box as she left.
“It doesn't happen often,” Barretto said. "When the donation box becomes invisible when viewed."
For decades, Jiménez has been asked to include the garden in the city budget, but has always been denied. At some point they left: let the city see what it takes to run this place. They returned to their positions when it became too hard for them to watch the young plants die. Two years ago, the city began budgeting $25,000 a year from the California marijuana tax.
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"The true meaning of life is to plant trees in whose shade you don't expect to sit."
— Nelson Henderson
At the age of 72, Olga and Manuel have gone from outsiders to influential members of society.
They are even depicted on a fresco in the city center.
“I didn't think so,” Manuel said. “We don't seem to be fighting for people anymore. We are still fighting."
At the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, many workers in Tulare County lost their lives. Employment in rural areas can be found in packaging and food industries. People went to work whether they were sick or not.
“Companies didn’t want anyone to know they were COVID endemic. They tried to keep it a secret,” Manuel said.
Every Saturday evening since April 2020, Manuel and Olga light lanterns in the garden in honor of every death in Tulare County. They have been doing this for over a year and in 2021 there were 841 candles. The garden was closed, but people could see the glow from the street. Manuel posted photos of the increased number of candles on his Facebook page. In the comments, people told the stories of the dead.
One of the boys working that Saturday lost his mother. A close friend of Manuel and Olga died, and then, one by one, most of their family died.
“It is very important to remember this time,” Olga said.
The past three years have been marked not only by a global pandemic, but also by the driest years in California history. Recently Olga and Manuel went for a walk to see what was going on in the fields beyond Woodlake. They saw thousands of acres of newly planted oranges.
“We are in a serious crisis. “Maybe it's too late,” Manuel said. “The simple truth is that there is not enough water. The choice must be made."
They were warned that the ongoing drought could cut off the garden's water supply. “But we must preserve public spaces — common spaces for beauty and food,” Olga said.
It was the end of the day, and she was resting, stretching her legs and placing her tools beside her. "When God calls me, I'll say, 'Wait while I get the scissors,'" she said, and settled into the shade of the Pakistani mangroves, her favorite gathering place.
She said that what the garden teaches - how to work with others, how to grow food, the importance of resting in the shade and, above all, sharing stories - are survival tools.
“These young people need to know that they are not alone in the struggle ahead,” Olga said. They bring courage, love, humor; they faced loss and injustice.
“In any case, this garden will remain,” Olga said. "It's vital."
This story originally appeared in the Los Angeles Times.
