“You all live together?” she asked.

Micah nodded. “Twelve of us. There’s space for maybe one or two more, but that’s it. We’re being very careful about who joins us, because it’s a very special thing we’re creating. A new way of living harmoniously, with the earth and with one another.”

“Like . . . a commune?” she quipped, expecting him to laugh.

Micah’s expression remained serious and he cocked his head. “Well, that’s one label. There’s a reason this idea has persisted for centuries and across cultures. Commune, kibbutz, collective, cooperative—call it what you want; it’s a beautiful concept. At our core, human beings need to live together, to share our burdens and challenges, to celebrate the fruits of our labor and our victories. Extended families used to live together—grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, dozens of kids—and in some countries, they still do. But these days . . . Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly have a big family to share my life. So, we’re creating a family. A family of sorts.”

Karina envisioned herself in her lonely apartment in Santa Barbara, Mom in their house in Los Altos, Dad’s condo in Palo Alto, his family back east, Mom’s in India—the fragmented shape of her family. Every important step she’d taken in her life—her efforts in high school, her college scholarship, James—was with the hope it would propel her further from the dysfunction and sadness of her family and give her somewhere new to belong. And yet, nothing had done that.

“I’d love to see it sometime.” The words were out of her mouth before she could consider them.

Micah smiled and grabbed a bag of rainbow carrots for his basket. “I’ll ask the others.”

* * *

When Karina showed up at the community garden on the third weekend in November, a dozen people were gathered there, the largest group she’d seen. Ericka, Jeremy, August and Zoe all greeted her with hugs, then Ericka linked her arm through Karina’s and introduced her to the others. There were several milk crates and plastic bins stacked in the center of the cluster of people and, oddly, Christmas music was playing.

Micah stepped up onto a wooden bench. “What a beautiful morning!” He held out his hands toward the sky. “Today,” he continued, “is the culmination of many months of hard work. Today we harvest the crops we’ve been tending since September. Can you believe,” he said, spreading his arms wide and looking around, “that in September, none of this was here?”

With a pang, Karina thought back to September, when she had made the drive from Los Altos down to Santa Barbara, anticipating her reunion with James. She swallowed hard and trained her attention back on Micah.

“And now, we have zucchini, tomatoes, beets, Brussels sprouts, broccoli, and much more.” Micah looked around at the group. “Each one of these plants is here because you took care of it.” When he said “you,” his eyes met Karina’s. “You nurtured it, watered it, weeded it and helped it grow.