I can grow anything. It’s a gift. I inherited it from my nonna. She could grow anything on the windowsill of her St. Clair W. kitchen. All year long fresh herbs were on hand, and her tomatoes were better than anything Aunt Nancy grew on her double lot in Woodbridge.
My husband and I grow all our fruit and vegetables on our little balcony – we made a business out of the surplus. A couple of years ago we got permission from the Co-op board to enclose it. A couple of other people made theirs into solariums too, but they don’t grow cannabis. We grow it for religious purposes, planted in between the sunflowers. It’s our only crop we don’t sell at the local farmers markets. We could make a lot of money but I don’t want to take the chance of him getting deported. That’d just make my parents too happy. They’ve never accepted my choices. They forget that I had dreadlocks before I met him, they’re down to my waist now. When I pile them high, I’m four inches taller and he calls me ‘my queen’.
8 min on 3.22.13
inspiration: quote from a previously bald woman at the Ritz-Carlton, Toronto
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