Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about urban gardening, as a relatively new interest. It doesn’t stray far from the green thumb I grew up with though. In my childhood, I helped my mother garden in our background. She grew tomatoes, walls of flowers, and I stumbled around carrying a watering can too big for my little hands. I saved the seeds from watermelons and mangoes to plant them later, unaware that the climate we lived in would not sustain my fruitless efforts.
My mother always talked about plants and flowers with great kindness, as if they too were creatures. “Don’t water indoor plants with water that is too cold,” she would remind me, “they get cold just like you.”