Longing for the Green: Memories of My Garden Nook

"Gardening is the purest of human pleasures." – Francis Bacon

As I settle into life here in Urbana, Illinois, thousands of miles from home, I find myself longing for the comfort of my garden back in Palembang. There’s a sense of calm and familiarity that only a personal garden can bring, a little sanctuary where each plant carries its own story, its own piece of home.

Pomegranates' Flowers

 Flowers turned into fruits

In my garden, the tropical air is always rich with the scent of earth and blossoms. I can almost feel the soft soil between my fingers as I think about the way each plant has its own personality, from the hardy herbs that grow like they’re on a mission to the delicate blooms that need a little extra care. This garden was my quiet companion, a place to recharge and find peace, and it grounded me in ways I never fully realized until I was away from it.

I miss the sound of the birds chirping on the tree and the play of sunlight filtering through branches. During the new-mom phase, I always brought my baby to feel the tranquility of my home garden, as each plant great to say hello to the new extension of the family. Some days, I could almost hear my plants whispering as I watered them, gentle reminders to slow down, breathe, and remember that growth happens even in stillness.

Curry' Berries

Though I may be miles away, in my heart, I still carry the spirit of that little sanctuary. And someday, I know I’ll return to it, ready to nurture it once again, as it has nurtured me in so many ways. Until then, I’ll keep these memories alive, a small garden flourishing in my mind and heart, bringing a little bit of home wherever I go.

Calamansi' Flowers

Here in Urbana, the seasons unfold in ways that feel both enchanting and unfamiliar. The air is crisp, the landscapes shift with autumn leaves and winter’s chill, and there’s a beauty in it all. But I can’t help but long for the lush, steady greenery of my home garden, the warm air, and the familiar scents that always greeted me when I returned home from a long day at work.

I still remember the thrill of planting my first seed. I had no grand expectations nor expereince, just a few small pots, a handful of soil, and a heart filled with curiosity. With a gentle push, I buried the tiny seed into the soil, knowing that in a few days or weeks, life would emerge from that very spot. It’s incredible how something so small and vulnerable can grow into a sturdy plant, ready to nourish us. It was my way of reconnecting with the earth, of bringing a small patch of green into my life.

The first harvest feels like a small miracle. I remember plucking the first ripe cherry tomatoes from the vine, its vibrant color and fragrance filling me with joy. It's more than just food, it’s a reward, a culmination of love, time, and care. It tastes different, too, richer and more flavorful than anything store-bought. There’s a certain pride in knowing you’ve nurtured it from the start, a satisfaction in knowing exactly where your food comes from. Each harvest reminds me of the power we have to create abundance, even from the smallest spaces.

Cherry tomatoes harvested

The garden is my teacher, whispering lessons in resilience, patience, and humility. Plants don’t always grow the way we hope. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, a seed doesn’t sprout, or a plant withers. But the garden teaches us to accept these small failures and to keep going, to try again with a new seed and renewed hope. Each harvest brings its own challenges and rewards, reminding us that growth isn’t always linear, but it’s always worthwhile.

Now, each time I care for the potted plants in my little apartment, I’m reminded of my garden across the world, holding onto the hope that one day I’ll be back among those familiar leaves, fruits, vegetables and flowers. Until then, I carry its memory, like a piece of home I can visit whenever I need it most.

I planted our anniversary roses in our garden