Just before Christmas, I was having a conversation with a guy who flitted in—then out—of my life like a strange and beautiful moth. “I am done with roommates,” I said. “Never again.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “The only roommate I’ll ever have again will be the one that’s sharing my bed.”
It was in the same vein of a statement that my mother made once to my Foreign Service Officer father. “I will move anywhere in the world, but I’ll never move to Nigeria,” she told him. This was weeks before he came home and dropped upon us the news that we were moving to the land of oil, black mambas and perpetual equatorial humidity.
In other words, never say never, because just weeks after I made that unequivocal statement, an opportunity arose. Like all things in this world, it was born of complicated circumstances, but in my experience, those are the kinds of circumstances that birth all things interesting and great.
It was very shortly after that my friend Fatemeh, who I have mentioned here before, brought up the possibility of moving in as her roommate in a new apartment not far from where I live now. There were many up-sides to this option, and among them? The 250-square-foot patio, which included some out-of-the-way space perfect for setting up a container garden.
A patio. Outdoor space that will be our very own. An opportunity to really try urban gardening, since my plan to get a community plot never materialized.

When I settled into my apartment in downtown Oakland, I thought I might never leave. The newer-than-new kitchen, the space, the quiet—all of it was perfect for healing my heart and learning the ins and outs of my new town. It had everything I’d been looking for, except for outdoor space in which to plant something.
Truth be told? I didn’t have time to plant a damn thing. Not in 2009, anyway. But 2010 is already a very different year, and the thought of, once again, being able to run outside in my bare feet and clip a few basil leaves for an omelette, or to harvest two handfuls of baby lettuce for salad makes me incredibly happy.
I’ve loved where I landed after I moved here, and I’m sure I’ll grumble all the way through packing and unpacking, but this is a new year, and a new season for growing. I’ll happily eat my December words, with a side of…oh, yes…homegrown tomatoes.
So…welcome to the next phase of this inadvertent adventure. Starting in March, it’ll be time to plant again.