after I moved to the city centre and losing my garden, an itch to grow something hit me. The night view from inside was stunning, but the bare terrace by day—empty concrete, silent, almost accusing—whispered, “You left the garden behind.”
A Hesitant Start
It began as just a small trip to the nearest garden centre. It had opened only a few months ago — a secondary branch of my old haunt. I drove up, parked near the greenhouse, took a deep breath, and walked in, knowing it wouldn’t be the same. No more freedom to pick anything. It had to be contained. Manageable. “Maybe a house plant?” But that meant breaking my cardinal rule: “If it’s not edible, don’t buy it”.
The Aisle of Temptation
Outside, pallets of soil bags were stacked like little fortresses. Inside, pots to the right — every size, every colour. To the left, tables of succulents. Cashier near the door. Moving forward: hundreds of house plants. Shiny, vibrant, cheerful — mocking my mood a little.
Then aromatics—parsley, mint, borage, the usual suspects. And beyond them, the fruit tree aisle lured me. Apples, figs—all impossible for a rooftop. Frustration built as I touched labels, recalled leaf shapes, pretending I could choose freely. Turning away took effort.
The First Step
“How big?” she teased. “Quite a bit,” I replied. She grinned, “Let’s experiment—start with aromatics. If they fail, no loss. If they survive, we build.” And that’s how I returned home that day, a full heart, six dark grey pots, six edible herbs, and 50 litres of soil. The rooftop stayed the same, but inside, the first seed—hope—had sprouted.
Your Turn
What sparked your garden? Share below—I’d love to know.
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