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In 2001, Jimmy and I decided it was time to move in together. After a few weeks of searching, we found a cute one-bedroom suburban apartment and had the keys to our new cozy life in our hands by the end of the month. Learning the quirks and habits of each other is common with new living partners, and we were no exception. I hated the way he left his dirty clothes on the floor after a shower. He hated the way I put off doing dishes until the last minute. But we worked through it.

By the next spring, he and I had reached an even keel. We had pets by this time. He worked full time. I went to school. Our existence was symbiotic and we were falling in love more every day. On a whim, I decided to call the landlord and ask permission to get a garden going. I was a biology major in college and figured the best way to learn was to do. My garden started out small, but it was quite fun. I planted the usual Early Girl tomatoes, a few common herbs and some catnip. Jimmy took mild interest in my new hobby, but mostly ignored my pleas for a bit of manly elbow grease to help me.

Something changed, though, over the course of the winter. Maybe he missed home grown food. Maybe he admired my determination to learn something new. Maybe he just got bored. Regardless, by our third spring in our suburban flat, Jimmy and I were now picking out what we would grow together. We looked forward to weekend trips to the feed mill and played tug of war over spring catalogs. With his help, by July, our garden was bursting with heirloom varieties of tomatoes, elephant garlic and every herb we ever came across.

By December of that year, disaster had struck. He lost his job and I was having trouble finding one that would work around a college schedule. Two weeks before Christmas, we turned our keys in to our former landlord and reluctantly took residence in the basement of his parents' house. We missed our apartment terribly. We missed our garden and we mourned our losses all winter.

By March, the first of the spring catalogs were arriving at our doorstep. Gurney's, Michigan Bulb, White Flower Farm and the Seed Saver's Exchange magazines piled high on the foyer table. I hadn't had the heart to look at them knowing that I wouldn't be able to garden this spring. They were just a sad reminder of the life we used to have.

Knowing how much I loved our garden and our time together, Jimmy went to work organizing a vegetable garden without my knowledge. He ordered all of our favorites: Early Girls, elephant

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