Looking back at all these gardens, from Berlin to Ljubljana, it is clear to me that they are not only places for planting vegetables and herbs. They are living proof that community can grow alongside plants, that human connections can flourish wherever there is space for encounters, conversations, and shared work. Each garden carries its own story, but all together they show the same thing—that an urban green oasis can be a bridge between generations, cultures, and social groups.
I have been engaged with the topic of urban gardening for a long time, and what initially drew me to it were the values of connection and collaboration it brings, alongside growing one’s own food.
I first encountered community gardens in West Berlin, almost four decades ago. At the time, I thought it was just one of many urban experiments in a city constantly searching for new ways of living. Let us recall, West Berlin was then still an island city, enclosed within East Germany. But the more often I went among the garden beds, breathing in the scent of soil and listening to the murmur of people gathering around gardening tasks, I discovered something else—that the garden was much more than growing vegetables. It was a place of encounters, a space where boundaries between languages, origins, and ages dissolved, and where, in the very heart of the city, a sense of belonging was born. Although it was originally conceived as a weekend settlement, there were no fences between plots, so the work unfolded in a kind of open space environment.
At the same time, in Novi Sad, somewhat different but equally fascinating forms of community gardening existed. These gardens were not part of urban planning, nor did they enjoy institutional support. They emerged spontaneously, through citizens’ own initiatives to turn land into a space for encounters and creativity. I often passed by gardens along the so-called Sombor’s railway, on the invisible line separating Detelinara from Novo Naselje. Each carried its own story—neighbors met there, children learned how to plant and harvest, and the elderly shared their knowledge and experience. The garden became a small community within the city, proof that nature and togetherness could flourish even where bureaucracy provided no space. They were vibrant and colorful, with shared areas for rest, improvised benches and tables, and watering cans scattered around.
Many years later, as part of a journalistic investigation, I came across the network of community gardens in Prague. It opened an entirely different world of urban gardening. Here I found a well-organized, diverse community, where each location—of which there were several dozen throughout the city—had its own clearly defined program and purpose. People did not come only to plant and harvest but to learn, exchange experiences, and participate in cultural events. By establishing community gardens throughout the city, opportunities were created for people willing to organize and work together. Composters became an integral part of these spaces, especially after January 2023, when separating biowaste became a legal requirement. Community gardens arise when neighbors, colleagues, friends, or relatives come together and choose a piece of land or space to cultivate.
“As a result, we actively support the development of community gardens, where not only fragrant tomatoes are grown, but also good neighborly relations. Since 2012, over 20 gardens have been created in Prague and across the Czech Republic with our support, and we have provided dozens of hours of consultations,” explained Anna Černá of the organization Kokoza. “Community gardens bring so much joy. You can grow your own vegetables, plunge your hands into the soil and rest from everyday hustle and bustle, meet your neighbors, and together build a greener environment,” she emphasized. In the last eight years, more than 128 such gardens have sprung up across the Czech Republic!
In Denmark, I discovered how gardens can contribute to the humanization of new block housing—small green oases among residential buildings, where neighbors co-create spaces and enrich everyday life. In the town of Fredericia, on the site of a former sulfuric acid factory, after remediation and reclamation of the land, a beautiful housing complex was built. Alongside efforts to preserve memories of the former factory and port, large green areas were created, including a section for community gardens. The very first part of the new settlement to come alive were these gardens, bringing together recently arrived residents as well as those planning to buy an apartment in the block.
In Ljubljana, I encountered one of the oldest and most stable examples of community gardens in the Balkans. There it was clear that continuity and dedication to community made the difference. For decades, the gardens have remained places of gathering, learning, and intergenerational connection.
Observing all these different models, I realized how varied European approaches to urban gardening, though shaped by local culture and politics, share the same essence: the desire to create a space where people meet, talk, work together, and learn from each other. These experiences convince me that community gardens are not only an ecological or urban phenomenon but a powerful tool for social inclusion. They blur boundaries between generations, cultures, and social classes, showing that in every city there is room for togetherness, solidarity, and mutual understanding.
Looking back at all these gardens, from Berlin to Ljubljana, it is clear to me that they are not only places for planting vegetables and herbs. They are living proof that community can grow alongside plants, that human connections can flourish wherever there is space for encounters, conversations, and shared work. Each garden carries its own story, but all together they show the same thing—that an urban green oasis can be a bridge between generations, cultures, and social groups.
And when I recall my first steps in the Berlin’s garden nearly four decades ago, I realize that it was precisely that feeling of belonging, warmth, and inclusion that makes community gardens lasting, inspiring, and irreplaceable places in every city. And the freshly picked tomato—with its taste and fragrance—comes as the sweetest bonus.
Author: Majda Adlešić
Photo credit: Kokoza, Prague, Czech Republic