Micah studied her face for a moment. “There’s something very special that comes from growing something of your own. Starting with the tiniest seeds, the seeds left over from the tomato you ate for lunch. Burying them deep within the soil, invisible to the rest of the world. You water them and watch and wait. And one day, the first green shoot appears. And you know you did that. You nurtured and created life.” Micah selected a tomato from the bin—deep red, perfectly round, skin unblemished—and held it up. “And then, you taste it.” He closed his eyes and brought the tomato closer to his nose, inhaling deeply.

Karina watched with intense curiosity. She had the sensation he was going to bite into that tomato like an apple, and she had an inexplicable desire to do the same. But, after a long moment, he simply opened his eyes and held the tomato toward her. She leaned forward to smell it, closing her eyes to take in the aroma, fruity and earthy at once. When she opened her eyes, Micah’s proximity and strong gaze took her by surprise. Karina felt the quick heartbeat in her chest and took a step back.

“I share a plot with some friends at Rancheria Community Garden. Do you know it?”

She shook her head.

“Why don’t you come by sometime? We could use someone like you. Our peppers and tomatoes are thriving, but our herbs and lettuces are getting feasted on by critters. If we can’t turn things around soon, we’ll be doomed to eating ratatouille all winter long instead of salads. Saturday morning, around nine o’clock?”

Karina watched as he walked away, uncertain whether she should go, yet impatient that Saturday was still six days away.

26 | Karina

October 2014

When she got home, Karina looked up the Rancheria Community Garden and learned it was one square block of city land designated for individuals who lived in multi-resident buildings or otherwise didn’t have access to outdoor space for gardening. People like her. She was nervous about going alone, so she called up Stephanie, who still lived on campus in their old dorm. “Hey, Steph!” Karina said, happy to hear her friend’s voice for the first time in weeks. “You free next Saturday morning?”

By the time she and Stephanie arrived, Micah was already there with two friends, who both looked older, in their mid- to late-twenties. “Karina!” he called out, and any apprehension she’d felt about coming faded. Karina introduced Stephanie; Micah introduced them to Ericka, a petite part-Asian woman wearing overalls and a purple bandana wrapped around her brown pixie cut, and Jeremy, with a faded T-shirt and a heavily stubbled chin he kept rubbing. Music was playing from a small wireless speaker. Micah poured them coffee from a large thermos and walked them around the garden, pointing out someone’s rainbow chard and another person’s Romanesco cauliflower.

“That’s Mrs. Godfrey’s patch.” Micah pointed to some wilted carrot tops. “She hasn’t been here since her hip surgery. Looks dry.” He pulled a garden hose over and trained it on the center of the box. “Gotta take care of things while she’s gone—she lives for this garden, sweet old lady.”