I used to believe I needed land before I could start a garden.

That I needed space. A yard. The right setup.

So I waited.

For someday.

But I am not waiting anymore.

We don’t have land.

We don’t even have a yard.

What we do have is a small porch, a handful of salvaged pots, and kids willing to get their hands dirty.

So we grow what we can.

That’s how our container garden started.

There wasn’t a big reason. We just wanted to try. We had salvaged pots, potting soil, and a little space out front, and it felt like as good a time as any.

It wasn’t a complete success.

We tried to grow mustard lettuce, and at first it came up fast in both pots. Then one morning I walked out and the leaves looked like lace, tiny holes everywhere. Bugs had found it before we could, and we lost both plants almost overnight.

The kids still showed up for it.

Rae helped plant everything, watered daily, and pulled weeds. She took it seriously, checking on things like they mattered. Channing stayed consistent with watering too. Neither of them complained about it being part of their daily routine.

Royce slowed us down a little.

He dumped the watering can more than once, turning spilled potting soil into mud along the side wall. Rae was annoyed for a second, then cleaned it up without much fuss while Channing refilled the can and started holding onto it so Royce couldn’t dump it again.

It wasn’t organized.

It wasn’t efficient.

But it was all of us out there, figuring it out together.

All summer, we kept those containers alive, watering, checking, and adjusting as we went.

By the end of the season, the Thai chili peppers took off. We had more than we expected, and when Grandma came to visit, we filled two sandwich bags to the brim and sent them home with her.

Not from a big garden.

From a row of mismatched pots lined up along the edge of our porch railing, sitting in the heat of the day.

The notice said to clean up our porch.

My cheeks flamed.

Five pots lined the railing, each one growing food.

Last summer we were told by the office that our pots looked like clutter and needed to be cleaned up. I had to explain that it was our garden, that we were actually growing food there. They eventually let us keep it, but only after I pushed back.

In our house, cilantro and green onions are in everything.

Thy calls them vegetables.

I never thought of them that way before. To me, vegetables were carrots, broccoli, green peppers. Not cilantro.

But in our kitchen, they are.

She makes a spicy sauce with the Thai chili peppers for her and Channing, and Channing loves it so much she has to hide some for herself or he will eat it all.

When I step outside to grab something fresh, it is usually mint or cilantro. The kind of things we actually use.

Every time the door opens, Royce wants to go out too. Last summer he would pull green onions straight from the pots and eat them right there. He even ate a chili pepper once, and we could not believe it.

Thy loves the garden too. She claims it just as much as we do, out there weeding, watering, and using what we grow in real meals.

Cooking is a big part of our home.

And cooking with fresh ingredients, even just a little, changes something.

This year, we are expanding what we grow.

Rae is excited about it. Channing does not seem to care one way or another, which is pretty typical for him.

We also added a small hydroponic garden inside. It sits on the kitchen counter behind my art desk. All the parts, the lights, the water.

The seeds are sprouting.

I am also starting a compost bucket.

Potting soil only holds nutrients for about a year, and I cannot afford to replace it every season. Composting gives us a way to keep the soil healthy without constantly buying more.

So now I am trying to make it more intentional.

A sealed compost bucket so it does not smell or bother the neighbors.

A small pallet station. Counter height. Simple.

A place to hold the compost and a few tools.

Nothing fancy.

Just something that shows this is not random.

This is something we are building.

Knowing the food we grow is healthy, flavorful, and something we cared for feels good.

For me and for my kids.

I love that I can teach them these skills the same way my parents taught me.

And I know we are preparing for something bigger.

I live in low income housing.

I do not have a real yard. Just a small strip of grass between buildings and no backyard at all.

But I still found a way to garden.

Someday, it will be on land of our own.

I can already see it.

Pasture. Woods. A family home with a few outbuildings.

Kids and animals. A swimming pond.

Something like Sunny Day Farm.

Peaceful, but full of life.

This little urban garden is not that.

But it is connected to it.

It is a stepping stone.

A place to learn. A place to practice. A place to prove that we can do this.

I have spent a lot of my life waiting.

Waiting until I had the right resources. The right plan. The right moment.

But I am not waiting anymore.

I am writing the book while I am still figuring it out.

I am building the life before it is fully possible.

This is not the dream yet.

But this is where it starts.