My journey to Brooklyn started about two years ago. I remember being camped out on my couch in my studio, the din of my laptop mocking me. “You, and your dark little apartment. Get out of here! Go find some trees!” After living in Manhattan in 4 apartments over the course of 10+ years, my yearning for outdoor space had grown stronger, and I realized I needed outdoor space if I was going to stay in the city with my sanity in check. I had gotten tastes of the outdoors over the years, but they all had a catch: a patch of fire escape? Dangerous. Gramercy Park? I had to cross the street and be dressed. The deck I shared with my roommate Marley? 6 flights up! Having a few square feet of ones’ own though seemed like something worth working hard for.
Maybe it was that. Or it may have been the 9-year-old me that planted a [sub par] tomato garden in my parents’ backyard who pleaded with me to make it happen. So I listened to her, and found myself looking for a place I could container-garden my heart out.
I also listened to 85-year-old Kate in all of this (if you haven’t met her yet, you will). Her advice was to just do it already, because you’re more likely to regret the things you don’t do in life. Hokey? Yes. But what came out of these internal monologues was this: I stopped pussy-footing around and bit the bullet, and found my patch in the sun.
Addressing a raw space can be daunting (such a wide-open palette! so little time!) but I’m ahead of the game here: the previous owners repaved the deck a few years ago, and also left a cool swing and some planters. Score! The furniture is from Amazon; it’s bamboo, so it’s both inexpensive and sustainable. The rest is yet to come.
I’m getting there. And soon enough, my tomatoes will be too.