I rescued a tiny succulent from a crack in the concrete on a street in Parramatta several years ago. I brought it home, found it a pot, and it keeps growing towards the light. Its curious leaves hold so many happy memories from that weekend – of strolling the streets and op-shops with a kindred spirit, sharing a house with friends who are dear to my heart, participating in a wonderfully inspiring and interesting gastronomy conference, connecting with a beautiful man, eating, drinking, talking, singing, walking and savouring. Every day this little plant gives me a wave and sends some happy memories my way.
I wanted to plant a tree and ended up having to dig up a concrete slab and a tree stump. Needless to say, I haven’t yet planted the tree, but after many days of hard labour in the cold and sometimes rain, the slab is a pile a rubble. It feels good to have vanquished a pile of concrete and built some muscle in the process, and the chickens are pleased to have a new landscape to scratch in.
What a surprising splash of greenery down a laneway amid the noise, bustle and concrete of inner city Melbourne. There’s something very domestic about the ramble of plants in pots and hanging off balconies, and the line of pots at the end of the lane. It gives the impression that it’s been done by plant-loving residents rather than as part of a business strategy. I’d love to see more plants in the city.