Yarden

It sank contentedly down on all fours, angling its head for easier access. Torin sat down next to the creature, smoothing its white coat. “You've welcomed all of the beings back to this small garden, or yarden, Rebecca.

But if you don't plan or properly plant, these shrubs will pass away in your yarden in less than a month.

Fast forward to 2010—to me and my yarden, my “if you don't like something, do something about it” upbringing, that empty lot on Peterson and Campbell, and that photo on the butcher shop wall—[…]

Sometimes I'll drop in a small handful of organic raisins or dried berries, but most times I'll also go outside and pick things from my yarden (what I like to call my yard, since many of the edibles growing there occur naturally) […]

I also let plants have their way a bit, which may make my yarden look untended, or wild.

Microcosm is my “yarden” (yard garden). While the space they occupy right outside my bedroom window isn't large, the products of their labor are recognized by many. […] My yarden quickly became the local figurehead of anti-neoliberal resistance. It also became hypervisible to those who disagreed with my alternative ways and made working outside potentially dangerous.