I went through my front gate, latching it behind me before turning my attention to my little garden.
Such as it was. Most of the space was a stone patio, with a small grill tucked into one corner of the walled-off space. There were rows of potted plants, but they weren"t looking good. I kept forgetting to ask my grandmother what they were and what I should do to take care of them. Most of what I was familiar with in Minnesotan gardens were things that had to be planted fresh each year like tomatoes. Whatever was struggling to send green shoots up was definitely nothing I had any knowledge of.
But before I had moved in, my grandmother had only rarely used the house herself. It was our old family home in town, but she had always preferred other places, whether it was the lands far to the n
