Coffee in the Black Garden
by Erika Dudley
When I was wee, my family and I sipped green tea and nibbled on almond cookies nestled inside the Golden Gate Park’s Japanese Garden. From our little table, we looked at, listened to, and smelled all of the plants in this peaceful green space. I have thought lovingly of this moment for decades.
What was so magical and memorable about that time? Was it the garden? The tea? The cookies? The company?
It was the care.
Being partial to coffee in all of its forms, I now realize that for several years I have been creating my own version of this magical experience with the Black Garden. Instead of tiny cups of green tea, we have Japanese bowls with rich, deeply-flavored espresso under blankets of foam. Since 2017, there’s been an idea put into action: creating a place that has been intentionally built as both an abstract and physical space of care. If I carved out a corner for plants that are either black in color or associated with Black people and made it incredibly beautiful and with care, what might people feel as they entered it, sat down to write, draw, paint, read, eat, imagine, or drink?
This space is very much about sipping coffee as it is about growing plants.
The plans, the mapping, and imaginings have been fueled by cup after cup of coffee.
The Black Garden’s origins are in Chicago and my hometown of Atlanta and extends back in time to the continents of Africa and the Americas. It’s positioned in the future where Black people are liberated.
It honors our ancestors and our children’s children. It is for those who would like to roam and explore its secrets and for those who’d like to rest.
This demonstration garden includes organic edible plants highlighting the African diaspora such as okra, collards, black-eyed peas, and delights like Paul Robeson tomatoes. It highlights botanicals that flavor whatever we encounter. It is a place that values Blackness in a world that often does not.
Like the mythical princess, Andromeda, coffee’s birthplace is Ethiopia (Land of the Burnt-faced); both the storytelling and pleasurable sips are elevated in this space. There’s a lushness and a sense of abundance. It was in this garden that the course, “History of Coffeehouses”, was revived and then taught during the pandemic after a hiatus of ten years.
During the pandemic, it’s also served as an ideal spot to lead Poetry in Public, a monthly engagement with poetry and fellow enthusiasts. A group of us dives into an unfamiliar sonnet or poem by reading it aloud and wrestle with the words to understand what they mean. No longer able to meet in our neighborhood cafes, we hopped on zoom as we stayed connected online. The unexpected chirping of birds or the occasional hum of construction made being outside that more interesting and… well, human. A warm day, poetry, and a cup, Everyday Shakespeare and Coffee with Langston are even more stirring.
It serves as a healing space for practitioners as part of its residency program and prioritizes rest, curiosity, creativity, activism, and the pleasure of reflection and community.
Visitors are encouraged to warm their hands with the hot brew as they explore tiny seedlings shooting up between cavolo nero’s bumpy purple leaves. While no coffee grows in the garden, the rich compost is loaded with the spent grounds, giving a faint aroma of my favorite drink long before the coffee service arrives. Sharing and drinking coffee seem to be the vibe of the garden. If you happen to be in Chicago and it’s warm, please join me for a cup in the Black Garden.
