An Adventure Begins ...

I spent the entirety of my four years in college in apartments or dorms, above the mostly paved expanse of downtown Washington, DC. Before that I grew up in Phoenix, AZ where you can fry an egg on the pavement in the summer and most plants either have to be heavily irrigated or have evolved tough skin and painful spines.

So naturally, I thought I was totally qualified to start a vegetable garden, with the help of my slightly more experienced best friend (her mom gardens) and my extremely citified roommates.

I still live in an apartment, but this one has some grounds, instead of just jutting abruptly out of the ground within a few hundred meters of sidewalk. We're just blocks outside of the DC city limits, but the change form downtown is dizzying. Within the grounds of the complex there are a couple of community garden plots. The place is commendably family oriented and you can often see parents, kids, twenty-somethings, all sorts of people out in the community gardens watering and weeding their little slice of cultivable ground. Some of them are on cell phones the entire time, but it's still a nice sight.

When my roommates and I arrived in late April, there were already notices in the community bulletin about applying for garden plots, and in a fit of ... something ... I applied. So, I guess this is a garden journal. But it is not a good place to look if you're after tips, smug stories of success, pictures of smiling middle aged people and their children eating heaping plates of fresh grown vegetables.

I'm 22; I work, I ride my bike a lot, I drink, I really want a Nintendo Wii and I pretty much act like a college student. I'm bumbling through this, and I don't know anything. This could be funny.