What’s Doing in the Garden

Pink blossoms everywhere on Austrian winter pea plants, which has converted nitrogen in the air into a form usable by plants when microorganisms eat and excrete it into the soil for future plants’ uptake — and whose sweet pea tips I’ve been nibbling for months. Proud, tall winter wheat and triticale swaying in the breeze,…

The Person For Whom I Prepared This Garden

The person for whom I’ve been preparing this garden the past eight months (unbeknownst to either of us) appeared yesterday. As usual when these things happen, he seemed to drop out of thin air. And I don’t believe there was any doubt in either of us that this simple meeting, this simple human exchange, was…

There Is a Way Forward, and You Are Necessary (UPDATED)

I chopped and hauled another load of bamboo home on my bike, cut all the branches off the poles, loaded them all up in my car, and drove out to the Sharing Garden at the refugee community garden in Clarkston, Georgia. My friend met me there, and together we finished building the summer crop structure,…

Peace Corps Update

Here’s the final chapter of my Peace Corps journey. If interested, you can read the full 36-minute account: Leaving Suburbia for the Peace Corps ____ 8. A NEW FRONTIER So much time has passed since I last updated you. So much in fact, that if I had gone to Uganda when I was scheduled to leave…

Peas on Earth

War. Death. Climate collapse (in Alaska, where I’m currently working full-time remotely, at twice the rate of the USA). Housing crisis. Mental health despair. It ain’t lookin’ good, team. Yet, as you know, every time I read a bad headline, I plant a seed (which, supposedly, is the ultimate act of faith in the future)….

“Good, right?”

I was leaving when I saw them. The cinderblocks. It was Bob again, I knew. I had carried a dozen or so of them up a little hill to create my first community garden bed way back in 2009 when where he lived (and I still do) became the newest city in the United States…

Alone in a Field of Mustard Greens

And thus one finds oneself alone in a field of mustard greens. And one is reminded that the seeds we plant grow. That our actions reap rewards. That if we want to give gifts to our future selves and generations, that starts today. Now. Here.

The Kitchen Sink

The kitchen sink overflowed with abundance. Kale. Chard. Beets. Daikon radishes. Love. Hope. Possibilities. And, as always, I planted more seeds as a gift. For tomorrow. For my future self. For you.

And So, Yesterday, Potatoes

Almost two years ago, I let the wild blackberry brambles keep growing and imagined one day there would be blackberries, not knowing whether you or I would survive to see them. And now, this weekend as the Omicron variant of COVID-19 surges around the world, I planted potatoes, two months early but it’s unseasonably warm,…