By Alison Bowen

Chicago Tribune

CHICAGO — Leafy mustard greens might taste sour to native Chicagoans. But to Uma Mishra, their flavor is a reminder of home-cooked dinners in Bhutan.

The greens fill her rectangular plot at the Global Garden Refugee Training Farm in the Albany Park neighborhood, where a community organization has transformed an empty lot into patches of soil where refugee families can farm. Against the backdrop of a new political climate, in which President Donald Trump has called for a reduction in the number of refugees admitted to the U.S., the farmers here find comfort and purpose in the digging, planting and harvesting that made up their life’s work in their home countries.

The farm, which began in 2012, became a nonprofit this spring after creating a board of directors last year, said Linda Seyler, executive director and “head weed puller.” The group receives so many requests for garden plots that there’s a wait list of 60 families, she said. Often, newly arrived refugees are so eager to begin growing foods that remind them of home that they reach out to the farm while still learning to speak English.

Mishra’s family tends one of the 100 garden slots in this two-block-long triangular space. Each family pays $20 a year, which helps defray the cost of seeds they receive.

Most grow vegetables to take home and cook with lunch or dinner, but about 12 families sell vegetables at the Horner Park Farmers Market.

A portion of the garden also is designated to grow vegetables for the farm’s community-supported agriculture program, which costs $375 for a summer membership with weekly produce starting June 10. Funds from the program help provide the seeds and plants given to the refugees to grow.

On a recent sunny afternoon, the garden was steadily filled with people bundling green onions or watering soil. Children darted around mounds of dirt. Mishra tended her plot, expertly plucking out weeds and selecting a handful of the bitter, spicy greens to take home and include in her family’s dinner.

Most of the refugees come from Myanmar and Bhutan, Seyler said, although some are from Congo, Eritrea and Laos. Working the soil gives them a way to connect to their previous lives.

“They’re in here as soon as there’s a sunny day in January,” she said.

Those first winters can freeze expectations, especially for those from warm locations. At the first frost, some tell Seyler, “It all died.” Gently she’ll respond, “That’s what happens here.”

Part of her job is suggesting something like garlic, which they can plant in the fall and harvest in the spring.

A man from Bhutan planted zucchini alongside lamb’s quarters and pokeweed, which Seyler said most consider “wild edibles.” Another plot supports bitter melon, to her surprise. “I always thought of that as a real tropical thing, but it grows nicely here in Chicago.”

Ma Tun Nyint arrived as a refugee from Myanmar six years ago. A year later, she found the garden. While generously watering her plot on a recent sunny afternoon, she pointed out the radishes and cucumbers.

“My country, this long garden,” she said, motioning her hands wider to indicate how much land she had farmed in Myanmar. “Chicago, small.” At the garden, she said, “I’m happy.”

Seyler said the refugees, despite many knowing limited English, often use the word “home.” After arriving to a brand-new city with a different climate and foreign language, gardening can seem a universal language.

“There’s a lot of mental health healing involved,” she said. “It’s the food that holds the family.”

Some farmers are older, she said, often grandparents who might otherwise struggle to find things to fill time. “It gives them an active role in their family,” Seyler said.

For Mishra, gardening in this corner of Chicago is a way to feel connected to the homeland she and her husband fled with their two children amid persecution. “We had no option,” she said.

At the garden, the Mishras’ plot is full of the mustard greens alongside garlic, cucumber and tomatoes. They harvested enough last year to share with neighbors, and they froze so many tomatoes they still have some left.

“In Bhutan we had a large area of land,” she said, estimating about 15 to 20 acres. “Here, we have a small plot, but we can grow so many things.”