OK, so here’s the truth.

OK, so here’s the truth. I don’t actually HAVE a garden.

I live on the 3rd floor of an apartment in downtown Toronto, and I make do. My garden comes equipped with a 1000watt full-spectrum light bulb, a humidifier, a fan, all tucked into a beautifully landscaped mudroom. Assorted orchids, ivy, ephiphyllums, geraniums, oddball tropicals and a giant spider plant compete for space with a couple of bikes and a cat litterbox, as well as the odd tied-off garbage bag lobbed in from the vicinity of the kitchen.

I often get lost in my miniature biosphere… especially in the morning, when I should be getting ready for work. I gaze a lot. Gaze, and send mental messages to my plants: “Grow, dammit!!!”. I glare at the weaklings and reluctant bloomers, and then I point threateningly to the garbage bag on the floor. “Grow, dammit!!!”. Yes, gardening does relieve stress.