Being a city gardener means hanging pots on the railing of my fire escape. My acreage is small so my crops consist of mostly of herbs and lettuces. While in isolation, I’ve become a better farmer, too. In spite of soaring temperatures and squirrel attacks, I  have grown accustomed  to  bending and crawling through my window every day to water my garden.

During previous summers while I traveled, a friend stayed in my apartment to feed our cats. But he wasn’t someone who would water the plants. Returning home, I’d inevitably find my fire escape garden a bunch of shriveled and neglected plants. This year, quarantined by Covid (and Trump’s inept handling of the virus) I had a decent bumper crop, enough though the wheat grain I grew was mauled by some squirrels. Regardless, it was a bumper harvest.