Unlike our Friday night potlucks, which rotated from house to house each week, the women and I always met at our house on Sundays. Mart brought the wine, of course, and we all enjoyed gardening. Technically, the garden belonged to Mart and me since it was in our yard but, in actuality, we considered it a group project.
Elle, of course, had the most knowledge, so she was our leader. I’d grown up with a small garden – tomatoes, peppers, herbs – at my childhood home, and Cate’s mother had grown a plethora of vegetables on their little patio in New York City. Mart, however, had no experience with plants, not even house plants. “My thumbs are so black I could apply football player’s grease paint,” she said.
As Mart filled our glasses in the cooling evening light, we each took to our little pl
