You Forgot 'What If?' (Solarpunk Protopia Fiction)

Part 10: The Garden of Evan

The elevator doors opened and the sun greeted us, softened by the multiple, rain-collecting, bell-shaped towers and looping, flowering and fruiting archways. When the garden sprawl came into view, I couldn't help but immediately smile. Our artfully cared-for rooftop garden, the crown of the Bean Tower, was my favorite place in the world.

As Sinclair and I stepped out of the elevator, a crisp wind greeted us. About 15 stories above the ground, it certainly wasn't a massive building, but it was more than tall enough to get a cool breeze. Even better, it was plenty tall to get a spectacular view.

I threw a bright smile back at him as I stepped out onto the walkway, paved with colorfully-speckled blocks and curls of flowering weeds. "Follow me!"

The pillars standing up from the gardens were small compared to the pillars that supported the train station and our buildings; these were about three feet across, with spirals of flowers, fruits and vegetables in full bloom shooting out from each one. The pillars bloomed outward at their apex, allowing them to collect water, and also shading and sheltering the space. Multi-colored roses climbed the towers and mingled with pink pea flowers, while white daisies, yellow and orange lilies and light pink milkweed reached their flowers outward, and bright red tomatoes, orange, red, yellow, and even purple peppers, and lush, soft peonies, hung down. Each narrow tower, with its riot of color, seemed both perfectly and imperfectly spaced, leaving room for each bloom, while leaving their reaches to whisper and tangle.

Below the towers, loose pathways snaked between teardrop and oval gardens. Trellises made from wood branches and twine held flowering and fruiting vines. There was some order to the grains and vegetables that grew there, but the vibrant colors and tangled leaves and stems almost seemed overgrown.

There were foods and flowers and herbs at every level; long arms of melons and gourds, cucumbers and tomatoes, stretched across the soil, showing colors and shapes many might not have known. Between them, a thick carpet of purslane, coltsfoot, shepherd's purse, mugwort, mustard greens, chrysanthemum greens, amaranth, groundnuts and dozens of others. Climbing just over the lush plants, long beans looped up trellises and dropped their long fingers down, accompanied by thick pigeon peas and cowpeas. Through the different plots, I glimpsed the thick thumbs of pearl millet, quinoa, and flint corn.

Over the pathways snaking between the gardens, fruit trees spiraled and looped their arms together in arches. There were dozens of fruits from around the world, all lovingly pruned and guided into living, woven shapes overhead. There were pawpaws and horned melons, kaffir limes and rose apples, passion fruits and rambutans, African peaches and karissa fruit, marula and yuzu, dragonfruit and guava, lulo and lychee. Some flowered, some fruited, each extended their own branch toward a gorgeous canopy, the only of its kind in the world.

Beneath the soil, I new even more edible artifacts from around the world waited to be enjoyed; cassava and mashua, olluco and oca, ginger and elephant foot yams, taro and turnips, jicama and daikon, tumeric and galangal.

The last show of the garden's long-reaching legacy came to me on the wind as it rushed past my face. Sweet and spicy smells, the smells of sugar and licorice, herbal lavender and piney rosemary, bright saffron and lemongrass, clean mint and earthy basil, mixed on the breeze across my nose. For a moment, it sent me back to the cozy stove of my parents' kitchen, the noisy, delicious family restaurants where I'd met with my friends, the long lines of street food stalls where I'd enjoyed respites during adventures. Taking a deep breath of the most luscious smells of the world rising from the ground, my shoulders relaxed and the comfort settled into my bones. That invisible hug from the top of Bean Tower never lost its power.

Opening my eyes just a bit and turning my head just enough, I snuck a glimpse at Sinclair, standing at my side. I tried to bite back a smile when I saw his eyelids slack, his shoulders rising with a deep breath. When his eyes opened again, he gazed around at the garden, his mouth agape.