A Borage Plant Grows in Florida.

My story, in a nutshell, is that I move a lot. All my (grownup) life I've never managed to stay put in any house or apartment for all of a year. The reasons for this are manifold (restlessness, escapism, general thirst for adventure…) but probably sort of tedious, so we’ll cut to the chase with this confession: I'm not the most reliable gardener.

I do love plants, however, and nearly everywhere I end up I attempt to grow some. Problem is, to be considered a real gardener one must establish, well, roots. Knowing the soil and the seasons and the subtle, shifting temperament of one’s little Eden is a pretty big part of the picture. True gardeners spend years on one plot consistently observing and nurturing the earth. Their gardens are ever-evolving masterworks of dedication, sweat and loyalty.

I, on the other hand, stick three old pots on my doorstep and call myself a farmer.

But it’s a process; I’m getting there. I’m not quite ready to settle myself and watch the dirt ripen, but eight days ago I moved from an overpriced apartment in Los Angeles to a sweet little house in Tallahassee and here I’ve decided to try and see how much produce I can grow in the instantly gratifying, endlessly forgiving conditions of a container garden.

I’m not sure if my little experiment will work, but I thought it might be fun (or funny) to document the attempt…

And so, without further yammering: welcome to my blog! Come back soon and I might actually have a garden to show you…

'Til then!