My Story
It started with a half-dead basil plant on a fire escape in late August, during a summer I barely remember surviving. I'd bought it at the corner deli for $2.49, stuck it in a cracked terracotta pot I found behind the building, and forgot to water it for eleven days. When it came back — and it did come back — something shifted in the way I understood what a city could hold.
That was twelve years ago. The fire escape became a windowsill. The windowsill became a community plot on the north side of Willowfield Street, Plot 7B, three feet of good loam sitting over compacted rubble and a century of someone else's mistakes. I started keeping notes that first season — not because I meant to build anything, just because I kept forgetting whether I'd watered and whether I'd already thinned the 'Cylindra' beets.
Those notes became this site. Not a project, not a brand — just a record of what happened when I put seeds in the ground and paid close attention. I grow sixty-odd varieties in a space most people would use for a parking spot, and every season I'm still surprised by something.
Garden Junky is the name I gave my plot before I gave it to anything else. It stuck. It's also the most accurate description of what I am: obsessive, cheerfully soil-stained, and entirely unable to stop starting new beds.