The collection of pots and planters that Booker keeps on his balcony is not, by some metrics, impressive. There are those who would hesitate even to call it a garden, since it is not planted in the ground, and perhaps even because it takes up such a small place. None of that matters to Booker. What others might think doesn’t matter at all, because to Booker, it’s his garden, and it brings him pride.
Booker has no slice of earth to call his own, because he lives in an apartment in the center of a large city. Every weekday morning at the same time, he leaves for work at the bank; every weekday evening, he returns home. He does not think of his home as empty, even though he’s the only one who lives there, because he has the plants in his garden.
To Booker, those plants are his family. He talks to them, though he does so quietly, because he doesn’t want his neighbors to overhear him. Sometimes he talks about them, after all. He also likes to talk about his day at work, but most of the time, he talks to the plants about how strong and beautiful they are growing.
At any given moment, he might call one of the plants his favorite. He grows mostly plants which can supplement the food that he buys. He grows three kinds of lettuce, all in a row together, and four kinds of peppers. He grows strawberries in a vertical planter, and blueberries and blackberries in a large pot which he brings inside during the cooler months.
Perhaps there is nothing special about Booker or about his garden, but he loves it all the same, and it brings him joy, and even small joys are worth celebrating.