Growing on Borrowed Ground
Since January 2025, I’ve had the privilege of serving as the lead gardener for the Arlington House Kitchen Garden (AHKG)—an integral part of the Arlington House, the national memorial to Robert E. Lee.
The garden spans nearly a third of an acre, with apple trees, perennial herbs, and rows of seasonal vegetables. Everything we grow and harvest is donated to local food banks and pantries. But we do more than grow food.
We teach local schoolchildren how to plant and tend the garden. We guide novice gardeners in identifying pests and diseases. We answer visitor questions about what’s growing—sorghum, cardoon, gooseberries—the structures we’ve built, and the techniques we use. Many visitors leave with photos, inspiration, and ideas to try at home. Over time, we’ve cultivated not just a garden, but a community of stewards who care for the land as they care for their neighbors.
On the morning of October 1, 2025, we had to rush to shut down the garden—harvesting what we could, rerouting irrigation, and making final repairs to structures. Why the rush, when the first frost is still weeks away?
Because the house and garden sit on federal land managed by the National Park Service (NPS). As NPS volunteers, we were required to suspend work during the government shutdown that took effect that morning.
Fortunately, the season is winding down. But there are still sweet potatoes in the ground, tomatoes ripening, peppers growing, and fall seedlings just taking hold. Mother Nature will continue her work, but these last few weeks I’ve been reflecting on the tenuousness of our land access—and wondering how we can mitigate the risks of growing on borrowed ground.
Risks to the crops left untended.
Risks to soil health and next year’s harvest because winter cover crops have not been planted.
Risks to irrigation systems not properly winterized.
And, most importantly, risks to the community itself—volunteers who experienced an abrupt end to months of hard work and may hesitate to return next season.
Growing on borrowed ground presents considerable challenges in densely urbanized settings, where food production must constantly compete for space with housing, retail, and office development. Urban growers often rely on small, irregular, or publicly owned parcels, secured through short-term leases, temporary use agreements, or pilot projects. Zoning and permitting frameworks—often written for property owners— further limit the integration of food production into multi-functional urban landscapes that provide social, economic, environmental, and health benefits.
To meet these challenges, there must be a cultural shift—one that recognizes food-producing landscapes as civic assets. If we truly value gardens for how they nourish our communities and strengthen social bonds, we should imagine cities that protect productive land with the same dedication given to parks, trees, and historic buildings.
Food-growing spaces are not relics of the past or temporary amenities. They are essential infrastructure for a more resilient and equitable urban future.
As cities evolve and the fate of urban gardens remains uncertain, it becomes even more important to advocate for spaces where people can grow, learn, and build community together. The story of the Arlington House Kitchen Garden is not just about plants or produce—it’s about perseverance, adaptability, and the bonds formed through stewardship.
By championing food-growing spaces as vital civic resources, we can ensure that future generations inherit landscapes that nourish not only their bodies, but also their sense of belonging and care for the land. The challenge before us is to transform uncertainty into opportunity, creating a more resilient urban fabric where gardens—and gardeners—can thrive side by side.