Renting is hard. When I move into a place, I always feel a strong desire to “nest,” that is always checked by the realization that, “I won’t live here very long; I can’t really afford to pour money into this house.” One thing that I’ve missed in a life of dorm, apartment, and rented house dwelling is my garden. I used to love to poke around in my garden and watch things grow. This year, I decided I would have a garden again.

But not any old garden. I wanted one that I could take with me when I leave the Red House.

My roommates and I have planted a movable garden in dozens of pots that cover the banisters of our porch and the big space around a sorry looking juniper tree in the front yard. We have boxes of things sprouting, as well as clay and terra cotta pots full of herbs (Greek and Italian oregano, red and Genoese basil, thyme, sage, rosemary, parsley, chives), pots with hot peppers (jalapenos, thai, and cayenne), flowers (pansies, day and peace lilies, zinnias, dahlias, marigolds, geraniums, hydrangeas, gardenias, mandavillas, etc.), and LOTS of French and Provençal lavender.

The French Quarter smells like lavender and honey right now, as the honey suckle that we let grow over the natural stone retaining wall blooms and flourishes. It’s currently my favorite spot to read and relax–not much tempts me to leave it. I’m going hunting for even more pots, herbs, and flowers tonight, and I can’t wait.