New York: one woman, one garden, twelve seasons.
Trust me, that weed that you're smelling ain't just specific to Harlem. My neighbors here in Greensboro (smack dab in the middle of red-state North Carolina) repair to their patio every single frigging night to light up. . .
So funny. When I pulled the magazine out of my mailbox i immediately thought of you. Replace child with cat and it's a done deal.xo J