Drew Taylor’s very waking thought is for the flowers. These days, it’s a mix of blossoms and dread.

“First thing in the morning I open up my bedroom window,” said Taylor, who lives in an apartment overlooking the improvised community garden nestled in two cement barrels in Northwest Portland.

The 62-year-old scans for vandalism, beer cans and less savory forms of illegal dumping. But all was well Wednesday.

“Oh thank God, it hasn’t been torn up this morning,” he said, recalling his wake-up ritual.

The cigarette clenched between his teeth slightly belying his green thumb , Taylor grabs a plastic gallon jug and waters the rosemary sprouts, morning glory vines and even a red Japanese maple sapling. Water courses through a dozen holes he’s punched in the jug’s bottle cap.

These planters

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