Data Garden

Old George's vegetable garden has recently become a mystery in the neighborhood. Not because he grew anything rare, but because his garden appears and disappears like a ghost.

At first, everyone thought Old George's dementia was acting up again. After all, he's in his eighties, so it's normal that he might not remember whether he'd planted anything. But gradually, people felt something wasn't right.

One day it would be lush and green, with cucumbers bearing prickly flowers, tomatoes glowing red, and beans hanging temptingly. The next day, it would turn into a patch of bare, yellow earth. Even the wooden labels that had been stuck in the ground would vanish without a trace.

Old George, however, was cheerful. Every morning, he'd get up, sprinkle some water on the spot where the vegetables used to grow, make a few gestures, and then sit at his door, basking in the sun and greeting the neighbors passing by: "Looking good today, ready to eat in a couple of days!"

The neighbors thought he was crazy.

"George, what happened to your garden? Has someone stolen everything?" Neighbor Mary kindly reminded him.

Old George smiled and pointed to the empty space: "It's not lost, it's all harvested, all harvested."

Mary thought Old George was getting more and more confused, sighed, and walked away.

One day, a man in uniform came to the neighborhood, holding a tablet, and walked to Old George's yard. He stared at Old George's vegetable garden, frowned, and swiped his finger across the tablet.

"Mr. George, according to the latest community garden management regulations, your vegetable garden is in violation of the rules. Please cooperate with our data retrieval." The man said officially.

Old George looked blank: "Data retrieval? Aren't I growing vegetables?"

"Yes, Mr. George, but those vegetables do not meet the planting data standards of this community and must be subject to data retrieval. We will periodically send you data vegetables, and you can plant them in your virtual garden according to your personal needs."

Old George was completely stunned. He pointed to his yard, "But this is real soil here!"

"Mr. George, this is specially treated simulation soil, designed to maximize urban space and resource conservation while still meeting your planting needs." The man patiently explained with a professional smile.

Old George still didn't understand. He walked shakily to the empty space, picked up a handful of soil, and smelled it: "This soil, why doesn't it have any smell?"

The man rolled his eyes: "Mr. George, of course, this is data soil, it has no smell, but you can adjust the smell you like through the data terminal."

Old George looked at the bare "data soil" in front of him and suddenly laughed, laughed very loudly, and laughed until tears came out.

"You people are really something! Really something!" He pointed to the empty space, "You've turned real things into fake things, so what do you need me for? To grow air?"

The man paused, unsure how to respond.

Old George reached around his waist and pulled out an old radio, turned it on, and the melodious sounds of jazz music filled the air. He danced to the music, in the empty vegetable garden, a lonely dance.

He danced faster and faster, lost in the moment, as if he were back in his youth, in that lush green vegetable patch.

On the man's tablet, the progress bar for "data retrieval" remained at 0%.

That night, Old George was fiddling in the yard again. He brought some wooden boards and wires, and built a small "vegetable garden" on the bare soil. He printed out various data images downloaded from his virtual garden and stuck them on the wooden boards.

The next day, Old George's "data garden" became the talk of the neighborhood. Children gathered around it, pointing curiously, while the adults shook their heads and sighed. Only Old George, still happily watering and fertilizing his "data vegetables."

A few days later, a group of experts came to the neighborhood, wielding various instruments and snapping photos of Old George's "data garden."

"Mr. George, your behavior is a serious violation of community management regulations. Please stop this immediately." The expert said sternly.

Old George ignored them and continued with his watering.

The experts, helpless, had no choice but to dismantle Old George's "data garden" completely.

Old George didn't get angry. He sat at his door, continued basking in the sun, humming a tune, and still said: "Looking good today, ready to eat in a couple of days!"

But this time, there was no longer optimism in Old George's eyes, but a deep, unfathomable desolation.

He knew that he was not growing vegetables, but the connection between humanity and nature that once existed in reality, and that had been replaced by data.