Lined up by my kitchen sink are the cut-off bases of half-gallon milk cartons filled with rich black soil. In each is a wooden Popsicle stick marked with a black Sharpie: tomato, basil, cilantro.
The counter is a temporary home. When tiny green tendrils poke up through the dirt, the carton is moved to a shelf in a south-facing window in my mom’s apartment.
I don’t remember when I last grew garden plants from seed. Many years ago I deemed it too much trouble and instead bought the peppers, tomatoes and herbs I plant in May from an area garden store.
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