Laura De Jong

1. The feel of a ripe tomato, the size of my hand, pulled off a vine. Yes, there may be spots on it. Turns out you need to prune the bottom of tomato plants to prevent disease from jumping from soil to plant…or something. But the tomato is red, and large, and firm, and smells like dirt. And I just know that BLT is going to be amazing. 2. Walking my dog by the water. Sailboats skirt across the bay while the touristy pirate ship glides slowly past.

I’ve been thinking about Jeremiah 29 recently. You know the chapter. Jeremiah’s letter to the exiles. The eleventh verse oft quoted at graduations: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” It’s verse five, however, that’s been popping into my head these days.

Across the road from my apartment is a city block worth of dirt. A long-standing dispute between city developers and the rail company that owns a neighboring yard and tracks has left this 5.4-acre block, known as Jamesville, derelict for nearly ten years. When we moved in a year ago, a chain link fence surrounded the vacated townhouses, their doors removed, graffiti splayed across their crumbling facades.