In a world of minimalism, tight spaces, and packaged goods, gardening and growing your own organic produce is an act of resistance. In fact, the first community filled with gardens appeared in 1970s– a time when cities went bankrupt. In the stead of broken buildings, there appears safe and green spaces.
My family lived in the city, but we would occasionally visit my grandparents in the province. I found the contrast between the tall buildings of our home and the green lush gardens of my grandparents extreme. Though I loved where I lived, I oddly felt more peaceful in my grandparent’s home.
Then, my family decided to move to another city. This time, we managed to buy a good piece of land. (The city wasn’t so big then.) My mother, who was as fond of gardens as my my grandparents, decided to build a garden of her own. Sometimes, I would help her remove the weeds or water the plants. The garden grew beautiful.
When I was in college, the city prospered, and we were suddenly surrounded by big apartments. Lots of people approached us, wanting to buy our land. We said we can’t because it’s our home. Then, they said that selling the garden would be much more profitable. My mother was tempted. After all, what they were saying was true. But I would discourage her again and again. Why?
It’s true that the garden reminds me of my grandparents, and I’ve grown incredibly fond of it. But more importantly, the garden is the only place in the city that I can finally feel connected with nature. Amidst the cars, buildings, and other infrastructures, there’s this quaint, little space where I can breathe. I mean, really, breathe.
Someday, I would like my own children to experience getting dirty and wet while planting their own plants as well.