In my 60s I moved into a multiplex full of millennials. A patch of dirt brought us together

Real estate is emotional. Why? Because a home is more than walls and a roof, it’s a canvas and container for our lives, our families, our communities. As part of an ongoing series, we’ve asked local writers to share their stories on real estate and housing. Want to write for the Star’s Home Truths series? Email [email protected].
In the winter of 2017, after losing my business and my house, I managed to rent the main floor of a little house on a leafy side street in the west end of Toronto just south of Trinity Bellwoods Park. The street was only one block long with a mix of owners and renters in old Victorians and rundown row houses. The house had just been purchased by two couples as a retirement investment and had three apartments, one on each floor. I was approved as a tenant but only by a hair. Mainly, I didn’t seem like the right fit being in my 60s among the other millennial renters, but I had a great rapport with one of the landlords and she convinced the others it would work, I would balance the house.
My flat was a splurge for a one-bedroom but it was the entire main floor with original hardwood floors and a quiet bedroom addition. It also had the one thing I had been craving for many years, a piece of earth that was in need of some love and care with six hours of direct sun — a garden waiting to come to life. It was in the front of the house and had been neglected for years, didn’t have grass, nothing but dirt. This is probably how I got the apartment with my eagerness to do something with the yard. I wanted to get my hands dirty.
After a house meeting to see who was interested, the plot was shared between me and my downstairs neighbour, Lara. She lived alone, grew up with gardens and needed an escape from her basement abode and working behind a computer all day. Even though I was twice her age we had a lot in common and regularly met to create and plan our portions of land. Spring finally arrived and with it came many hours of digging and designing. I planted herbs and heirloom tomatoes, Lara planted flowers and cherry tomatoes. Over the spring and summer months we sat on the front steps to stare and talk about the abundance of the fruits of our labour and became good friends.
People regularly stopped to admire and comment on the transformation and we offered samples to everyone. Our third-floor neighbour, Chris, got into cooking and relished the basil we gave him. The mint overflowed onto the sidewalk, the cherry tomatoes hung over the wrought iron fence. It was so successful we couldn’t wait until next year. Over the following winter an entire farm was imagined. We added tomatillos, ground cherries, hot peppers, swiss chard and more varieties of herbs and flowers.
The next spring, our next-door neighbour dug up his front lawn and planted an even larger array. The house was rented by two busy young professionals but a boyfriend had recently shown up, moved in and loved what we had accomplished. He used every inch of his space to coax carrots, eggplant, zucchini and even watermelon and was so excited he became this proud dad eagerly tending his crop. We all shared watering duties and help if anyone needed it. Across the road a box with lettuces appeared amidst the grass and up the street a row of herbs and then a stand of tomatoes stood on a slab of concrete. Two doors away was a couple who had been in their house for decades. The wife always wanted to be able to grow something. She was close to me in age and regularly came over to chat about life and food. Now that she saw the possibilities, her husband had to trim their tree back to allow more light and build her a box to hang on the fence so she could finally grow the hot peppers to make her infamous island hot sauce, which she shared with us of course!
Every day a mom and her four-year-old daughter passed by and they squeezed the mint and drank in the sweet aroma. When the ground cherries were ready, I picked one and showed the young girl how to peel it and then pop it into your mouth. Yes, you can eat it! Her eyes widened and she smiled with awe.                 
No one could believe tomatoes could be yellow or grow so big or so tall. Next door, our neighbour’s stand of sunflowers grew to almost 15 feet. Lara’s blood red and bright pink dahlias stopped people in their tracks. Pictures were constantly being taken and the harvests were always shared or traded. Everyone wanted to talk about their gardens. We took tomatoes especially to the mobility-challenged lady a few doors up and the older fellow across the street that had a touch of dementia. Their eyes lit up, a homegrown tomato will do that. The street was so green and alive with talking, tending, visiting or just enjoying summer’s magic.
A few years later COVID arrived, the house was sold and we all moved on but everyone continued their love of nature. Lara and her boyfriend bought their first house and made sure it had a yard to cultivate. The couple next door moved to their own place with a garden twice the size. I found an apartment that had a balcony so I could still grow herbs and try to coax a tomato or two as well as cross the street to the Dufferin Grove Farmers Market to share in their bounty and talk to the farmers. Even though my journey in the house had ended and I would sorely miss the garden and the people it brought together, it was a special pocket of time. We were all richer and I knew the community would never be the same.
Susan Ditchburn is semi-retired, has always lived in the Toronto core and has the heart of a farmer. As well as writing, reading, cooking and gardening, she always makes time to explore and embrace the life and soul of the city.