In this week’s episode, we’re getting into the weeds—literally—with two stories about how gardens and green spaces can take root in our lives in unexpected ways.

Part 1: Feeling lonely after a move to New York City, Kofi Thomas finds connection, purpose, and community through a neighborhood garden.

Kofi Thomas is a NYC based comedian with a curiosity for the world. He is a first generation immigrant to parents from Dominica, (not the Dominican Republic). Observer, commentator and creator of the world around him. An accidental community activist.

Part 2: As he fights to stay sober, Michael Hudgins throws himself into an unusual form of therapy: pulling invasive plants from a city park.

Originally from Tifton, Georgia, Michael Hudgins has called Atlanta home for the last 15 years. Michael loves to write songs, watch documentaries and spend time with his wife and son. Professionally, Michael has recently found a calling working to protect and preserve local forests through invasive plant management.

EPISODE TRANSCRIPT

PART 1

Hello. Hey, I'm Kofi Thomas. I am from Boston. My parents are from a tiny island called Dominica. I grew up in Boston in a real big Caribbean household. Always had a lot of family and friends over. So every time we'd get together, there'd be like a really big pot on the stove of pelao, which is like rice, peas, whatever else you got, and some kind of like protein in there.

I get a little older. I start doing comedy. I moved to New York. New York is cold. It's big and it's quiet. I don't really know a lot of people, so I'm kind of alone a little bit. But I'm from a nice community and I got a good friend of mine, Chris Daniels.

We're like, “Yo, let's just throw a show in my apartment. Let's just do that. I'm missing something, let's do that.”

So I get my lights. I build a little stage and I need chairs. Across from me, in Bushwick, is a community garden. I see this garden and I'm walking by it. It's got gates around it and there's some Puerto Rican and Mexican flags and music playing in there. I'm like, “Oh, they got so many chairs, so many. I need these chairs.”

Kofi Thomas shares his story at QED Astoria in Queens, NY in February 2025. Photo by Zhen Qin.

So I'm plotting everything, like how do I get in there? Do I jump the gate and take a few, bring them back? No, that's not cool, Kofi.

One day, I work up my nerve. I go into this garden and there's an older man with the Puerto Rican flag hat on. I walk past some rose bushes and this man and his grandson, they are throwing a knife over and over again into the floor. I'm watching him teach his grandson how to throw a knife properly. And I think about leaving. I'm like, “No, no, I'm already in here.”

“Hello. Hello. Hello, sir. Hola. I was wondering, I live across the street. My name is Kofi, if I could borrow some of these chairs. I'll pay you some money. I'll rent them from you.”

He says, "Well, my name is Hernan, this is my grandson Mason. We're out here, we're having a good time. What did you say your name was?"

I'm like, "Oh, I'm Kofi." And I realize, I'm like, "Oh, I'm not saying my name properly. Hey, I'm Kofi. Hello. Hello, Hernan."

And he starts telling me about the garden. “Oh, it's been here for over 30 years. We have chickens in here, chickens are running around. There's fruit trees in the place.” And I'm getting more and more excited. I still want these chairs, though.

He says, “You know what? Take these chairs, but just bring them back.”

I'm thinking to myself, “I've seen your grandson throw a knife. I'll bring the chairs back. Don't worry about it.”

But I feel so overcome with his generosity, I want to repay it. So, I say, “Hey, Hernan, right now, I'm a professional box lifter. I work for a moving company. I have a truck sometimes, if you need any help.”

And he says, “Oh, yeah,” he looks around and he goes, “you know what? Actually, we're rebuilding the walkways around here and we have to go to Home Depot.”

I go, “Okay. Here's my phone number.”

That Friday, he calls me. I go, I grab a 16‑foot box truck. I pull up in front of the garden, Hernan gets in, another man jumps into the truck.

I say, “Hello.”

Hernan says, “This is Julio. We call him Chente.”

“Hola, Chente.” Doesn't say a word to me. Cool.

We go to Home Depot and we start picking up lumber. We get to the checkout register and I say, “Hold on. Let me do some talking here, Hernan.”

And I say, “Excuse me, miss. We are a community garden.” By the way, I just met him. I say, “We are a community garden. Do you have any discounts for community gardens?” Because I'm Caribbean and I always want things to be at lower price.

They say, “Oh, yes, we do have some like nonprofit discounts.” Cool. So I saved us over $100 that day.

I start driving back. We get back to the garden. And when we get back, there's like this hero’s welcome. There's all of these families outside who I've never met before. I'm looking at them. I come out the truck, and Hernan is like, “Hey, this is Juan, this is Julio, this is Ana, this is Freddy. Here's Freddy Jr., here's his daughter, here's his son, here's his grandson.

And I'm meeting primos and primas all over the place. And, y ahora, I'm meeting more people and speaking more Spanish than I've spoken in my life. I'm feeling great.

We start bringing the lumber into the garden. We're bringing it in and somebody starts a fire on the grill. They start cooking and it's a big pot. There's arroz con habichuela and I'm like, “Oh, this feels familiar. This feels like being back home.” I'm having a good time.

We're finishing up at night and then one of the Juans says, “So, tomorrow…”

“Oh, si.”

“Tomorrow, next day, we're working again.”

Then for weeks, we got together. For weeks, we're just working, working. Every week after, we go working on these walkways and we finish it. The kids start playing and I'm meeting more people. I meet more people and I meet more people, and it feels really good.

As we're eating one day, Hernan says, "Hey, it'd be cool if we had some tomatoes with this arroz con habichuela."

And I said, "Oh. Oh, I get it. We want to grow some food here. Ah, entiendo.” So I say, “Hey, Hernan, where do we get the materials to grow this food?”

He tells me, “We get it from Green Thumb.”

I say, “Where is their number?”

He says, “You have a phone.”

“Okay, I hear you, Hernan.”

I look it up. I find Green Thumb. I call them. I talk to a woman named Lillian Reyes.

I say, “Hello, Lillian. My name is Kofi. I'm at the People's Garden in Bushwick. We want to grow some food. May we please have some supplies?”

She says, “Yes, you may have some supplies. We have some wood to grow food. However, we have no way of getting it to you. We are understaffed. We have lumber at this compound, but unless you know of somebody with a truck, there's no way to get it.”

I say, “Hey, Lillian, I'm on my way. Give me your location. I do have a truck. I lift boxes professionally.”

So, I drive out. I meet Lillian and I get the lumber. I come back to the garden. Another party. More people show up. I'm meeting more neighbors. Now, we've got some Haitians, St. Vincent, Trinidadian, everyone's coming out. And I'm seeing firsthand, oh, everybody around here feels a type of way about this garden. Everybody feels connected. And through this garden, I'm meeting more people and feeling more connected to my community.

So, I'm falling in love with it and I'm seeing Hernan introduce me to more and more people. And as I'm getting things going, he keeps saying, “Uh-huh, we have everything we need right here.” He just keeps repeating that phrase. It's starting to sink into me, like, we have all the tools, the resources, all the skills right here.

So, as I'm eating again, because I love to eat, I have another plate in front of me and Hernan says, "Oh, this garden is nice. I wish we could help out the garden around the corner."

And I say, "What garden?" Not realizing Hernan was setting me up again. Right? What garden?

He says, "Oh, yeah, there's a garden around the corner. You go over there and you'll see a garden that's been neglected for years.”

I'm like, “I don't believe you. Around the corner from where we live?”

I walk around the corner and I see it's like, it's a beautiful disaster. This garden is large. It's I‑don't‑know square feet. It's a lot, okay? Think of like 12 bodegas. Whatever your measurement is, it's a lot of space. It's half a football field.

I see the space and there's giant gates. I walk in, but the place I'm walking through trash. I'm stepping over diapers and there's just trolleys and there's car doors and basketball hoops and sheet rock. It's a mess in there and it smells terrible. It's nothing like the garden I just came from.

I see that there's a couple of old men sitting around a table. I walk by them. I'm walking around. They don't look up. They don't say anything to me. But I walk around the garden and, to me, I see the potential of what it could be. My imagination is already running. We could grow so many tomatoes here. We could cook even more arroz con habichuela in here. There's so many things.

Also, this garden could fit so many chairs. I am so excited.

On my way out of the garden, I'm already in love with it. There's somebody walking into the garden and he says to the two old men sitting down, he says, "Hey, do you mind if I use the bathroom in here?"

There is no bathroom in there. People are just using it as a toilet and that's the first time I'd heard somebody be polite and disrespectful at the same time. He asked permission to be rude.

So I leave and I go back. Hernan has a smile on his face because he knew that I would get excited about it. I'm excited now. It's too late. I'm all in.

I call up Green Thumb. I say, “Hey, Lillian, it's Kofi again. Yeah, I found a garden.”

She says, "What?”

“Yes, I found a garden. It's on Goodwin Place in Bushwick. Can we get some help?"

She says, "Well, if you want it to be a garden, you need to go to your community board and get their approval to make it a garden."

I say, "Okay, Lillian. Thank you." I hang up.

I look up our community board in Bushwick. It is not an up‑to‑date website. The Parks and Rec subcommittee and it says, "We meet sometimes on Tuesdays." Verbatim. "We meet sometimes on Tuesdays."

So I call the number and I say, "Hello, this is Kofi. Is this one of the Tuesdays that you are meeting?"

And they say, "Yes, you can come."

I come to the meeting and I walk into this conference room. That's a multi‑purpose room. It's probably also a daycare. I walk in, but they have a conference table. Around the conference table it's a little intimidating. It's the elders of the neighborhood. It feels very formal. It feels almost like English Parliament, you know? Where they wear like the powdered wigs. Like that type of vibe, like powdered wigs. There's none of those, but there are a lot of wigs in the room. It's a very elderly, established, very elegant room.

I am nervous, but I'm thinking all I have to do is say, “Hey, there's a garden here. I want to help out with it.” That should be simple. I was nervous, but now I feel confident. I know my community loves this. It's going to be easy.

So, they are sitting around a conference table and they pass out agendas. The meeting starts and the chairperson is Mr. Camacho who starts with, "I have been living here for 57 years." He starts all of his new statements like that.

He introduces the vice chair, Ms. Annette, who is soft‑spoken, has been living in Bushwick for 71 years. Everyone kind of takes their cue off of Ms. Annette. She's seen everything.

And then it's just a roundtable of people who I want to say are the reason that Bushwick looks the way it is. Like, these are the founders. It's a Founders’ Table.

On the outside of that table are people like me, people who are new and have just an idea. Next to me are two white guys in tie‑dye shirts.

The meeting starts. They do the formalities: welcome, minutes from last meeting, they talk about the secretary and they do the business. The business at the meeting, it feels very serious. They're saying, “Hey, people are not getting the right permits for their barbecue grills,” and that is very serious. “We do not have enough kids playing in our parks.” That is very serious. Also, “There are too many kids playing in our parks.” Very serious.

So there's debates going back and forth, just about the ins and outs of life in Bushwick. The crosswalk signs, they move too fast. The numbers go too quickly. That's a big issue. They're talking and we get through all of their issues. We get to the last part and the two white guys who are sitting next to me, Mr. Camacho calls on them.

“Hey, you two gentlemen, you can now present.”

They stand up. These two guys, they stand up with confidence. Tie‑dye shirts, Birkenstocks, they're ready. One had a tote bag on and he starts talking. He says, "Yes. Hello. I'm Trevor. This is Ken. We are here to talk about bringing Ultimate Frisbee to Bushwick."

I heard Ms. Annette go, "Mm." I don't know if you all heard how subtle that “mm”, but my mom is black. I know the early warning signs of trouble. I know that “mm” means if you keep talking, there's going to be a problem.

I heard the “mm” and I realized, oh, this is not going to be easy. These people do not play.

Trevor and Ken do not see the sign. They keep talking about frisbee. Then Ken reaches into his tote bag to pull out the frisbee to hold it up. Like that's going to win them over.

And Ms. Annette rolls her eyes from the bottom of the socket all the way up and around, and rolled her neck at the same time. As the other women saw it around the table, almost like they all caught the spirit. Every woman started to roll her eyes. I saw it move around the conference table. Everyone caught it.

Their proposal was done right there. The two guys, at the end of it, they said, "Any questions?" And, ooh, they were ready. Ms. Annette started, "Are you all even from Bushwick? What is it going to do for the kids?"

And out of nowhere, people who I didn't see talk the whole meeting were like, "Yeah, what about us seniors?"

I was like, "Uh‑uh, it's over." They sat down, their Birkenstocks fell off. That was it. That was a wrap on frisbee.

So now, I'm nervous, but I'm like I came. I still want to say my piece.

So I raised my hand and I said, “Excuse me, Mr. Camacho. Can I make a proposal?”

And he said, “No. We only talk about what's on the agenda.”

I said, “Oh, apologies.” I'm trying to talk more parliamentary. “Apologies, How doth one present at a future some Tuesday meeting?”

He says, “Okay, we can put you on for the next meeting.”

I say, “Okay. Thank you.” And I leave a little bit shaken but with more direction. I know if I'm going to talk about this garden, I need to have facts. I need to be able to make a good, convincing proposal because this roundtable does not play.

So I spent the next couple weeks, I'm reading things online. I look for an Encyclopedia Britannica. I'm like, what do gardens do? How do gardens help the community? I need to know everything.

I come back and the two weeks I spend, I'm practicing around my house. I'm in the mirror, I'm like, “Yeah, and another thing. Trees are good for the air. Yeah. And let's not forget about compost. Huh? What is it? You see…” I was practicing. I was trying to get it down. I was like, “No, that's too loud. I'm coming up too aggressive. I got to be smooth. I got to ease in it.”

“Hello, esteemed people of Bushwick. Plants give us nutrients.” So I was working on it.

I come into the meeting on some Tuesday after that and, same thing, they're around the table. Mr. Camacho is there, Ms. Annette is there. I get up and I go into it.

I'm saying, "Hey, we have this garden in Bushwick and it has the potential to help bring us together. We can grow food, we can also compost, which reduces our carbon emissions. You see, it diverts land waste, which also keeps food out of landfills where it gets compressed and then methane gas is released. Furthermore, did you know that trees release oxygen as well as clean the air? Yeah, did I mention that tree pits as well as garden structures help mitigate rainwater runoff, which also saves our sewer systems? Also, fun fact, did you know that streets with trees have a lower crime rate and a lower heat index?”

And as I'm talking, I'm like, I think I'm killing right now. I see Ms. Annette and I'm looking at her, and one of her eyes started to move, sort to like roll up to the top and I heard like an “Mm.” I was like, “Oh, no.” I feel like I'm losing her, so I do a little quick pivot.

I go, “Yeah, and furthermore, it's good for seniors. You see, seniors don't have enough activities out here. And I'll make sure there is not too little or too many kids playing inside this garden space.”

Her eyes settled back down and I knew I had them.

So I finish my proposal. I'm nervous. I'm waiting for their verdict. And Mr. Camacho says, “Look, I've been here 57 years, and I've always wanted that to be a garden again. Yes. Thank you.”

And I said, “Oh, thank you.”

So, I'm good. I got their blessing. I go back to my garden, the people's garden with this news. I'm saying, “Hey, everybody, you know, Juan, Juan, Julio, Nando, everybody around, like put more ados on the fire. You know, we successful.”

And Hernan says, “Yeah, we have everything we need.”

And then his grandson Mason said, “Yeah, we do, and bring back those chairs.”

All right. I'm Kofi Thomas. That's it for me.

PART 2

Several years ago, my girlfriend kicked me out of the house. We'll get to the trees in a minute, but can you believe it? She kicked me out of the house. Spoiler alert, I deserved it. You see, she had given me many, many opportunities to get my shit together, but I could not stop drinking. In fact, in the previous 20 years before that, I could not stop drinking.

One time in college, I remember I woke up to find my apartment completely trashed, and not just your normal after‑party trash but like demolished in a violent way. Recliners were tipped over, entertainment center was tipped over, there's a hole in the wall, food on the floor, broken dishes. There were many broken things. I couldn't tell if the smell of liquor was coming from the floor or if it was coming from me.

I looked at my roommates and I said, "What happened?"

They looked at me and they said, "You did this."

Now, I'd blacked out before, but nothing like this. This was different. And more embarrassing stories and moments would accumulate over the years.

Despite these events, I cannot control my drinking. I started to carry shame and it became a permanent fixture of myself. I used alcohol to escape that feeling. I wanted to be anywhere, anywhere but here. This would turn into a destructive cycle that would go on and on and on.

Michael Hudgins shares his story at Waller’s Coffee Shop in Atlanta, GA in March 2025. Photo by Rob Felt.

Now, somehow, I was able to graduate college and I had meaningful relationships. I wrote songs and played in bands and I had so many great moments that I would not trade in for anything. But there's a lot of damage done to a lot of relationships because of my choice to drink, which eventually was not a choice at all. I had to.

I had a degree in marketing but I had no sense of direction. I figured I could play music and work in restaurants, do that forever and that would allow me to drink the way that I wanted to. Who cares, right? As long as I can pay rent, let's party. Well, that party would turn into isolation and darkness.

Lucky for me, I met Lindsay and she's a very bright light. We fell fast and we fell hard for each other. It truly was magical. Within two years, I had moved in with her.

That brings me back to the moment where she kicked me out of the house. During that time, as I was crashing on my buddy's couch trying real hard to drink myself to death, I received a long email from her. A list of ultimatums is what I called it.

Number one, get some real help to stop drinking. Agreed.

Number two, find a career path. That would be great if I could just magically make that happen.

Number three, go to the dentist. Out.

And the list went on. I know that she wasn't passing judgment on my teeth. She was saying you need to take care of yourself. You're a grown man. Go to the dentist. Go to the doctor.

Well, for me, it wasn't that easy. I couldn't just turn it off. I could not stop drinking. I felt hopeless. I felt trapped.

I started looking for apartments that were close to my job so that I could walk to work and drink and not have to worry about getting a DUI. Then I remember realizing, well, that sounds great and all, but I don't think my body could really handle that for very long. I probably would drink myself to death. And, again, I felt trapped. I didn't feel like there was any other option. The way that I was feeling inside, death didn't sound that bad.

Again, lucky for me, Lindsay was there. She believed in me when I had no faith in myself. Eventually, she took me back in.

Started to go to AA. I got help through that program and through the mentors I found within that program. I started to make progress.

I got involved with a non‑profit called AmeriCorps, working in parks, to build trails and remove invasive species. I was making progress enough so that Lindsay agreed to marry me. I know, right? Eventually, she got pregnant.

Things were looking great, at least on the outside, but on the inside, I was slipping. Even though I was going to AA and I truly believed in the program, I relapsed a couple of times. It got to the point where I was secretly drinking every day. Again.

On March 11, 2019, Lindsay came home to find me drunk and passed out in the bedroom of our unborn son. She was three months pregnant at this time.

Honestly, I was relieved to get caught. To get caught, I was relieved. I couldn't do it anymore. If I couldn't take care of myself, how was I going to take care of a kid?

So I recommitted myself to AA. I found a sponsor, dug in deeper, and committed myself to being sober one day at a time.

The following September, our son, Traveler, was born. And if you're a parent, you know how instantly our lives changed for the better. I could sit here and go on and on about what it means to be his father and the pure joy that he generates, etc., etc., but I'll spare you all that.

The following spring was one that I would never forget. During the craziness of the pandemic, like so many others, I sought refuge in the outdoors. At this point, my service with AmeriCorps was over but I was still working as a volunteer to build trails at a future park along the Chattahoochee River called Riverwalk Atlanta.

Riverwalk Atlanta is a vision of Keith Sharp. He and I would lead volunteer days on a monthly basis to build these trails. And we weren't just building trails, we were clearing, we were removing large sections of invasive privet.

Invasive privet is a shrub. If allowed, it will completely take over the understory of our forests here in Atlanta. And oftentimes, when we would remove these large sections of privet the following spring, we'd get these explosions of native plants. I feel like it's important to define that invasive plants are non‑native ones that were introduced by humans, that spread rapidly on their own and they displaced native plants and the birds and the bees and all the local wildlife that depend on them.

So, to me, to remove these invasive plants and allow native plants back in, to me, it was a form of rehabilitation. That was something that I could relate to. Oftentimes, after these big removals, we would see an explosion of native plant called butterweed. They would create these beautiful vistas of yellow wild flowers that you would look in every direction.

Also, the jewelweed would start to show up in huge numbers, jewelweed with their little orange flowers that attract hummingbirds and their leaves that repel water into little beads that glisten and hang on like jewelry.

Goldenrod and wingstem taller than me, just swaying in the wind, buzzing with bees and butterflies. This place was magical to me.

Upland chorus frogs would fill the seasonal pools and their songs would fill the air day and night. It was the most peaceful sound that I'd ever heard.

As I was trying my best to restore this forest, this forest was definitely restoring me. And on May 1st, 2020, as I was exploring Riverwalk Atlanta, I was exploring an unexplored section, fighting through all the thick privet, I came upon the biggest tree that I had ever seen. The leaves were way too high for me to be able to tell what kind of tree it was. But when I looked down, I could see maple leaves and I could see one that had very deep lobes. I knew, I could tell it was a silver maple tree. From that moment forward, I called that tree Big Silver, and, boy, is it big.

I told everybody about it, including my new friend Eli who was running the Champion Tree list at Trees Atlanta. He came out and he measured it and it was about 100 feet tall with an average crown spread 80 feet, 14‑and‑a‑half feet in circumference.

Boy, I told even more people about this tree. I told my friends, I told my family. I told the volunteers I would take them to this tree and I would say, “Look at this Champion Tree,” because it did make the list. I’d say, “Look at this Champion Tree. Isn't it great? I'm going to clear all this privet and we're all going to come and it's going to be great.”

A “Champion Tree”. Photo courtesy of Michael Hudgins.

I'm giving high fives and patting myself on the back. Oh, yeah. This is right. This is...

“You know what, Keith? Yeah, I think I should start that invasive plant removal business. I think I will. I think I'll do that. Hire me and I'll come out and I'll remove all the invasive plants and all the native plants are going to come back. And I might even find you a Champion Tree.”

Not so fast. You see, unknown to me, around that silver maple tree was an invasive plant called chaff flower. And this is not just any invasive plant. A mature plant can produce up to 2,000 seeds, and those seeds will stick everywhere to you if you were to walk by that plant, let alone work in the midst of that plant.

So, as I was uprooting all the privet shrubs, I was inadvertently spreading the chaff flower seed that was around into that freshly disturbed soil. Yikes. So you can imagine.

And these seeds have an over 90% germination rate. So you can imagine the next spring, that plant moved into that space like no other. Whoo, it was a nightmare, and I still have nightmares about it. Because you couldn't just dig it all up. That seemed to make it worse. Whoo, had to take a step back?

Is this what I'm really going to do? Can I do this? I don't think I can do this. I feel like an imposter. Do not hire me.

Well, after some sadness and some serious reflection, I decided that, yes, this was still my path. I would learn from my mistakes and be better. I would share my successes and share my failures with others so that they can learn. I would ask for advice and ask for training. I would dig deeper into the research. And above all else, I would continue to get out there every day and learn and hope that the passion doesn't fade.

That's what I did. And in 2021, I started an invasive plant removal business called Woods Keeper. We're now a team of five and we're working in parks and green spaces all across Atlanta. Now, when my wife talks about me, I can tell that she's proud of me and she's proud of the work that we do.

I guess I should also mention, two days ago, March 11th, I reached six years of sobriety. Thank you.

So sometimes I think about that list of ultimatums and how far that I've come. Now, if she could just get me to cook something, like anything.

I still go see Big Silver often and I hug it, occasionally. I'll give it a hug. You can't really hug it. I just kind of pat it, but I make sure to touch it. And there's still chaff flower there, but it's getting better. With the help of volunteers and the help of my crew, we've used various methods to suppress it.

The goldenrod and the river oats and the wild rye, they're spreading and they're increasing their real estate with each passing year. It's a slow process. It's a process that I need help with and it's a process that involves things that are out of my control. A big part of everything for me is realizing that it's okay to need and receive help. It's okay to realize that I am not in control, because I am not in control of this journey. There is no end destination. There's only what's right in front of me in this moment. And I'm grateful to be here with you tonight.

Thank you.