Not a morning person, I rise with the sun to get to the lottery on time. Three generations of a Chinese-speaking family fill out applications beside me. Across the table, a silver-haired empty-nester confesses she’s just moved back to the city. A young Black couple holds their breath with me while a gardener tumbles our submissions in a tote bag, then draws names. Some of us will sow bitter melons, and others zinnias; some, tulips, or fat tomatoes. We all long for a chance to grow in the soil of the Berkeley Community Garden, to plant deep roots in Boston.
Doris Iarovici, 56 Years old,