The maze of solar panels blinded us
occasionally as we made our way along the rooftop greenhouses. Some are whole floors of the building,
but my favourites are the rooftop ones.
It was difficult to guess the time of day since we were usually only outside
our respective buildings to gather food.
The sun seemed to shine most of the time, and evening at this time of
year would come much later.
I can’t help but reflect on the
gardens grown out of dirt. Of
flowers alongside vegetables, so groundhogs would stay away from more edible
shoots just appearing out of the ground. There were woodland flowerbeds
unattended by anyone that would blanket the woods with trout lily, or wild
violets. There was also scilla
that had somehow made their way to North America from Europe. We aren’t mapped that way any
more. Along the escarpment the
white trillium would blanket the hillside every spring. No one attended to them.
The young girl beside me seemed
content listening to her music in her earphone. No more wires, or pods of digital information to be carried
around. No sense of weight to
anything.
The greenhouses have their
temperature regulated. The timing of
everything is also regulated and sometimes, but rarely, goes on the blink. One of “our” greenhouses was teal
with other patches of colour a little reminiscent of stained glass. How do you describe the concept of
stained glass when all I have left are old worn pieces of beach glass that
belonged to my mother? I still
have non-digital artefacts much to my grandchildren’s amusement.
The urban gardens are
extraordinary. Genetically
modified food has made us a people of super-vegetables. Given the modifications to most of our
plants we no longer need to eat animals.
The deforestation has more or less stopped and the manufacture of food
for slaughter has also stopped.
I wish my granddaughter wasn’t
always plugged in. Not that I’m an
incessant talker. I appreciate
spending time with her. The walk
through the solar panel maze is almost the only time we are outside of our
relative workspaces or homes. In
fact, homes and workplaces are all intertwined and linked. It makes for very productive
people. And they’ve left space for
creative people as well. And
lots of gardeners, some robotic, ply their trade all over the cityscape.
There is hardly any smell in the
greenhouse. The ventilation makes
sure of that. The shelves upon shelves are mostly set up for hydroponics. The mushrooms are grown in some kind of
dirt, but mushrooms are almost an entity of their own. Especially after we cultivated the one
that ate plastic. I am still
reluctant to ingest that one.
I have managed to find a little
corner where I planted a few seeds from a collection I had kept from another
lifetime. The blue forget-me-nots
will scatter once they flower and perhaps flower over and over again among the
mushrooms. I’m not sure what I
will do if the morning glories actually grow. They love to climb and most of the greenhouse is bed upon
bed, flats upon flats. Plus, they
are truly morning flowers and I would have to make my way up on my own to see
them. I believe these ones are a
mix of colours.
I would like to have my very own garden.
My night garden took me many attempts, but I did manage to cultivate one before
we were moved north, into these urban landscapes that try and look like forests
or something akin to that. My
night garden of mostly white flowers bloomed in the evening. The scents were extraordinary. I suppose I could just go the mall and spend time in their
gardens, but they seem so constructed.
The malls have all kinds of stores, and
entertainment centres alongside their gardens. There is food grown in those as well, but not accessible to
just anyone. We have managed to
keep the bees. They have access to
their own spaces full of flowers, but are kept segregated from most of us. We don’t want to almost kill them off
again. Their spaces are
spectacular with flowers of all kinds of variations and the honeycomb comes out
in various colours. We use honey
for so many things. It is food,
but is also used for other things.
The bees are probably genetically modified as well.
I have a few things I still carry, my
mother’s red Tibetan coral and a few rocks that I cherish along with the beach
glass. I hold them once in a
while. I live in a Granny Pod type
of space. Most apartments have the capacity to integrate a Granny Pod into
their living space, allowing me my space.
Of course, I kind of wish I wasn’t in a high rise. The pod allows me a little independence
and some peace of mind for the rest of them. I have managed to keep a few real books with real paper
pages. They seem to entertain my
grandchildren to no end.
We arrived at the greenhouse that is
allocated to us. My granddaughter
immediately goes to look for the forget-me-nots. They seem to be growing and this brings me and I think her,
immense pleasure. We collect what
we can to bring back to our respective homes for the meals. I fret that the power will die out or
that the water will end up poisoning the plants and we will be left with little
or no food. Only a few of us fret
about this.
We wander back outside briefly, with
our fresh food, among the solar panels.
I am always looking for something growing outside of our boxes. We pause briefly and look at the
cityscape. Sky views are limited. It is my third time out of my space
without my tracking bracelet.
Anyone interested thinks I am home. So far no one has noticed my absences. I want to celebrate the upcoming midnight
sun somehow.
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