that first hopeful day in which I came home with my six little pioneers – rosemary, mint, parsley, thyme, coriander, and chives.
A Slow Unfolding
I didn’t repot them right away. They sat in their tiny plastic containers on the rooftop table, fully exposed under the open sky. I told myself, they needed to settle. In truth, I was hesitating, unsure of this new world. Every morning, I watered them faithfully – once a day, a habit from my old garden. It felt safe.
The Harsh Reality
This rooftop was no gentle shade. Back then, my herbs lived in gentle shade, protected for most of the day. Here, they faced full sun from morning to late afternoon — trapped in their little pots, baking slowly.
The chives were the first to burn, their tips crisping like paper. Parsley and coriander followed, drooping at sunset, reviving slightly by dawn — until they didn’t. I repotted the survivors into bigger pots, shifting them from the sun’s wrath, thinking I’d saved them. For a week, they forgave me.
The Drowning Lesson
But I carried my old habits with me. I watered as if they lived in breathable soil, not the damp, heavy earth of pots that never fully dried. One by one, they surrendered—mint and thyme—leaving soggy roots behind. By late summer, only rosemary stood, proud, defiant, stubborn.
Winter’s Weight
Autumn arrived, and with it, empty pots stared back at me. They asked questions I didn’t want to hear: Maybe I wasn’t made for this? Maybe this rooftop would never be a garden?
Winter followed—long, quiet, heavier than the one before. I watched rosemary through frost, wondering if hope could grow here.
Your story
I’ve shared the first fall. What’s your gardening setback? Share below—I’d love to hear how you pushed through.
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