Those who dig holes, those who stand in the spring sun to water a seedling drooping in shock, know that a plant freshly placed in the ground is the ultimate totem of optimism. For city gardeners, like these young men reclaiming a triangle of street corner in 1967, that’s doubly true. It’s not just fingers crossed that your tomato plant doesn’t wither and die. It’s planting blooming shrubs on a lot once filled with tumbleweed potato chip bags. It’s drawing a line around a space and turning it into a magic backyard for the whole neighborhood. In the ’70s, if you applied for a Land Reutilization Authority garden lease, you got free topsoil, seeds, and advice from the city horticulturist. Of course, that was back when there were 20,000 community gardens in America—rivaling the victory garden era of World War II. You can still pay the city a few dollars and garden on an empty lot, but you’re pretty much on your own, and corner garden leases don’t exist, because corners are prime real estate. That’s the other reason community gardeners put all their hope in the ground along with their seedlings. So gather ye rosebuds—and your tomatoes—while ye may.
Great Harvest Bread Co.’s Maplewood location to close after 25 years
Franchisees Steve and Alecia Jawor are retiring, the independently operated Kirkwood location remains open.
