So here's the thing about renting in Austin – you start dreaming about growing your own food when you're spending half your paycheck at Whole Foods and the other half on takeout because you're too exhausted to cook. I'd been following this whole sustainability thing for a few years, mostly focused on reducing waste and buying less stuff, but food was this huge blind spot. I mean, I was composting my scraps and bringing reusable bags to H-E-B, but I was still buying vegetables wrapped in plastic that had traveled thousands of miles to get to my plate.
The apartment balcony garden thing started last spring when I was particularly broke and particularly fed up with paying four dollars for a tiny container of basil. Four dollars! For something that dies in three days! I was standing in the herb section getting genuinely angry about basil prices when I thought, you know what, people have been growing this stuff for thousands of years, how hard can it be?
Turns out, harder than I expected, but not impossible. My balcony faces southeast, which I learned is actually pretty decent for growing things – gets morning sun but not the brutal afternoon heat that would fry everything by July. The space is tiny, maybe six feet by four feet, but I figured that was better than nothing.
I started small because, honestly, I had no idea what I was doing. Bought some basic containers from Home Depot – nothing fancy, just plastic pots with drainage holes. Got potting soil, which felt expensive at the time but whatever. My first attempt was herbs because they seemed foolproof and I use a lot of them when I actually cook. Basil, obviously, plus cilantro, parsley, and this Mexican mint marigold that the guy at the nursery said grows like crazy in Texas heat.
The basil was amazing. Like, I couldn't believe how much better it tasted than the sad grocery store stuff. Started putting it in everything – pasta, salads, even just eating leaves straight off the plant because why not? The cilantro bolted immediately because I planted it in May like an idiot, learned that lesson the hard way. But the parsley hung in there, and that Mexican mint marigold took over half the balcony by August.
Success with herbs made me overconfident, so I decided to try tomatoes. Cherry tomatoes, because I'd read they were easier than full-size ones. Got these little plants from the farmers market, put them in bigger containers, added those wire cage things. They actually did okay for a while, gave me maybe two dozen tomatoes total, which sounds pathetic but felt like a miracle when I was eating them.
The real game-changer was lettuce in the fall. I'd never thought about growing lettuce because you can buy it everywhere, but homegrown lettuce is incredible. Cut-and-come-again varieties meant I could harvest leaves for weeks from the same plants. Made salads constantly just because I had fresh greens right there. My grocery bill actually dropped noticeably because I wasn't buying those expensive plastic containers of spring mix.
Winter was rough, obviously. Nothing grows outside here in January. But I kept some herbs alive indoors under a cheap LED grow light I found on Facebook Marketplace. Not the most attractive setup – had plants all over my kitchen counter – but I had fresh parsley and chives through the cold months.
This year I got more ambitious. Added peppers, which love the heat here. Hot peppers mostly, because they produce more than sweet peppers and I use them in everything. Jalapeños, serranos, these little Thai chiles that are insanely productive. Also tried green onions, which are basically impossible to kill and regrow from kitchen scraps anyway.
The pepper situation got slightly out of control. Had so many jalapeños I was giving them to neighbors, coworkers, random people at the community compost drop-off. Made salsa, froze peppers whole, dried some into flakes. Still have jars of pepper-infused vinegar from last summer's harvest.
Space management became this whole puzzle. Vertical growing helped – hung some planters on the balcony railing, used plant stands to create levels. Succession planting meant starting new lettuce seeds every few weeks so I always had something ready to harvest. Learned to time things better too, like planting heat-sensitive stuff early in spring before temperatures hit the nineties.
Watering was the biggest challenge, especially in summer when temperatures stay above one hundred for weeks. Had to water twice a day sometimes, which was annoying but became part of the routine. Morning coffee on the balcony, water the plants, check for pests, harvest whatever was ready. Weirdly meditative way to start the day, actually.
Container gardening in Texas heat taught me that not all vegetables are created equal. Tomatoes struggled once temperatures got really high. Lettuce was impossible past May. But peppers, herbs, and heat-tolerant greens like Swiss chard did great. Mexican mint marigold and Mexican buckeye sage basically thrived on neglect once established.
The failure rate was higher than I expected but not discouraging. Lost entire plantings to aphids before I figured out the dish soap spray trick. Killed plants by overwatering, underwatering, using terrible soil, planting at the wrong time. But each failure taught me something, and the successes felt earned in a way that buying vegetables never did.
Started saving seeds from plants that did well, which feels very full-circle sustainability-wise. Those Thai chiles produced hundreds of seeds that I'm sharing with friends and replanting. The Mexican mint marigold self-seeded all over the balcony. Some herbs came back on their own this spring from last year's plantings.
What surprised me most was how much the balcony garden <a href="https://zeroemissionjourney.com/the-rise-of-climate-friendly-superfoods-regenerative-crops-for-the-future/"><a href="https://zeroemissionjourney.com/the-rise-of-climate-friendly-superfoods-regenerative-crops-for-the-future/">changed my relationship with food</a></a>. When you've grown something yourself, you don't waste it. I used every single lettuce leaf, every pepper, every herb sprig, because throwing away something I'd grown felt wrong in a way that wasting store-bought produce never did.
Also started paying attention to what foods grow when, which sounds obvious but wasn't something I'd thought about before. Eating seasonally happened naturally when I was growing some of my own food. Salads in spring and fall, peppers and herbs all summer, preserved and stored things in winter.
The amount of food I can grow on a tiny apartment balcony obviously isn't feeding me entirely, but it's supplementing my diet in ways that matter. Fresh herbs make simple meals taste better. Having salad greens means I eat more salads. Growing hot peppers means I use them more creatively in cooking.
From a sustainability perspective, it's reduced my reliance on packaged produce, eliminated food miles for the things I can grow, and given me a deeper appreciation for the work that goes into food production. Plus, container gardening uses less water than traditional gardening once you get the hang of it, and there's no soil degradation or runoff issues.
The setup costs weren't nothing – containers, soil, plants, that grow light – but they've paid for themselves in grocery savings. A basil plant costs maybe three dollars and produces way more than those expensive packages from the store. Same with peppers, lettuce, most herbs.
Next year I'm planning to expand slightly, maybe add some small fruiting plants like strawberries or compact blueberry bushes. Want to try winter gardening with cold-hardy greens under row covers. Maybe get a better grow light setup for year-round indoor herbs.
The balcony garden isn't going to solve food security or climate change, but it's made me more connected to what I eat and more aware of how food systems work. Plus, there's something deeply satisfying about eating a salad made entirely from plants you grew yourself, even if it's just on a concrete balcony in a generic apartment complex.
If you're renting and think you can't grow food, you probably can grow more than you think. Start small, expect failures, celebrate the successes. Even a few pots of herbs on a windowsill changes how you cook and eat. And honestly, watching things grow is good for your mental health in ways I didn't expect – gives you something living to care for and a reason to spend time outside every day.
Daniel’s a millennial renter learning how to live greener in small spaces. From composting on a balcony to repairing thrifted furniture, he shares honest, low-stress ways to make sustainability doable on a budget. His posts are equal parts curiosity, trial, and tiny wins that actually stick.
