Gardeners are a singular species, patient nurturers who are also fiercely individualistic – which is what has always made the gardens on the Arbutus corridor so endlessly fascinating. The land by the railroad tracks was never officially theirs, as we now know too well, but slowly, patiently, as the seasons turned, the gardeners took root, planting seeds and pickets, installing running water and seating arrangements, devising scarecrows and making each plot an ode to wet coast fertility and quirk. As they reaped and sowed, year after year, many things grew: an idea of farming, a way of sharing, sunflowers and chard, and kale, so much kale. This spring, there will be no planting in many plots, but nature hasn’t got the memo: through affidavits and warnings, fresh shoots press into the warming air. This year, like every year, hope – like gardens and those who plant them – springs eternal.
story © Dianna Carr images © Francis Tremblay