Friendship Through a 15’x15’ Square of Dirt

This story is written and read by Casey Fitchett, former Community Gardener.

This is a tale of moving to a new place, a(nother) story of a pandemic’s effects on us, and an account of discovering a new hobby. But mostly, it’s an evolution of a friendship that was made possible through a 15’x15’ square of dirt.

In February of 2020 we drove all of our belongings to our chosen mountain town. Like so many other young(ish) adventurous types moving west, we felt pulled by the opportunities to find ourselves in the outdoors. We were going to give it a go in Missoula.

Although we had been together for just about two years, Jake and I had never really “lived together”. Our lives had been much less conventional than simply choosing whether to move into your place or mine. We had traveled through Central and South America together for six months and road tripped around the United States for three, but we hadn’t ever lived in a place that required regular monthly rent or mortgage payments. Montana was a new frontier.

We exchanged our security deposit and promise to stay for an apartment right on the Milwaukee Trail. This trail soon became an everyday staple in our new lives. As we explored our new neighborhood, we quickly noticed the Milwaukee Trail Community Garden and began researching how to rent a plot. As is typically the case, we had no idea how this decision would have a significant butterfly effect on our lives.

Because we had never lived together, we hadn’t ever really thought about what life would look like when we were anchored in one place. Although routines hadn’t existed in our shared world thus far, we were eager to grow where we had planted ourselves.

Prior to meeting me, Jake had tended a garden in his backyard in Minnesota. He had built a deer-proof plot and was able to harvest beets, tomatoes, carrots, and peas. I was a gardening novice, but I was curious and hopeful to share this hobby with him. Being focused on living a (mostly) sustainable life, I knew that growing a portion of the food we consumed could make an impact.

Our walk to the garden became the one normal part in an increasingly abnormal world. More information was coming out daily, but early summer of 2020 was still tumultuous. Tending to our plants became the grounding that we needed and the best excuse to turn off the news for an hour. As it turns out, there were others in the community garden who were looking for the same outlet.

We would sporadically run into our plot neighbors, exchanging pleasantries about the weather and the prolific amount of zucchini. (“Once it starts, it feels endless!”, “Do you have any new recipes? I feel like I’m in a rut.”) The more we chatted with them, however, we realized that we just might have more in common than squash.

Making friends as an adult is weird. You have to make an effort to see them; shared time is not guaranteed the same way as it was when you were in the same class in school. On one particularly bold day, I exchanged phone numbers with the woman pulling weeds in the plot next to us, Xanna.

The Milwaukee Trail Community Garden was, literally and figuratively, our meeting place. They lived to the east, and we lived to the west. Those first “getting to know you” runs would inevitably start with a “meet at the garden?” text.

As our tomatoes (and the weeds, to be fair) grew, so did our friendship with Xanna and her husband Ethan. One could even say that our friendship grew organically. (Ha, ha.) We began getting together with them regularly, gathering around campfires in the woods, trail running the Missoula mountains, and meeting on patios for a craft beer. We watched their dog occasionally when they went out of town, and they would water our plot for us when we went backpacking. We planned trips together to stay in lookouts and cabins.

Our lives in the Zoo evolved. Xanna and Ethan moved to the other side of town and now have a garden in their backyard. When we visit it, we marvel at the size of their basil as their young daughter plays in the grass beside us. Last year they honored us by asking if we would be her godparents. We accepted.

On a stunningly crisp and clear early October day in 2023, Jake and I said our vows to one another at a trailhead just south of town. I walked down the aisle wearing a homemade veil that wouldn’t have been possible without Xanna’s sewing skills. We were guided in the ceremony by our good friend, and officiant for the day, Ethan.

As we prepare to buy a house and sew seeds in our own backyard, we are feeling a slew of emotions. Nostalgic, of course, because this will be our last year renting a plot in the Milwaukee Trail Community Garden. The end of an era always brings a certain type of sadness, yet after four years, we are also feeling grateful. Grateful that Garden City Harvest exists, and that we discovered the potential of its offerings. It’s not an exaggeration to say that gardening has altered the course of our lives in this town. We signed up to grow tomatoes, and are walking away with an incredible friendship that will outlast even the heartiest of plants. Thank you, Garden City Harvest.