Crisp, sunburned leaves. A shrivelled stem gasping for water. Grey, sandy soil that repels moisture—much like my legs in summer. Toss in a grassless lawn for dramatic effect, and you’ve got a snapshot of my gardening track record.

I once thought it was a brilliant idea to plant baby fruit trees during a 40+ degree January heatwave, straight into what could technically be described as “dirt,” but more closely resembled beach sand. Yes, I was that person. Of the three trees I planted, one heroically died and was respectfully composted. The cause of death? Possibly the soil, the sun, the lack of water—or maybe the tree just took one look at its new home and decided, “Yeah, nah.”

The other morning I was caught up in a daydream

Walking through rows of tomato vines

They were taller than me, wildly twisting up to the sun

I was lost in a food forest

The soil damp beneath my feet

They weren’t just any tomatoes

But my tomatoes

Organic, heirloom, self-seeded from the year before

Accidental and deliberate

Wild and tamed

Tethered and free