My Eden Rose no longer needed to be in quarantine. The aphids were gone, but their memory was etched into the leaves. Unsure whether they had left behind disease, I unburdened the plant of the reminders that remained. I brought it along with me today, partly to change the soil—concerned that repeated soap-water sprays might have turned the soil basic—and partly to seek a second opinion. A more experienced volunteer offered me a neem spray, "just to be sure," he said.

The organiser was back today, and with her, our sense of direction. My flatmate who had accompanied me last week, returned as well—evidence that he, too, was finding something here. The cat was back too, attempting the same unsolicited digging in our planter. This time, I gently shooed it away before any unintentional damage could be done.

My friend and I were assigned a session of watering and weeding in the roof garden. I watched him follow steps I had once taken, while I, now in the organiser’s shoes, guided him along. Legitimate peripheral participation, now in full view.

Just before our next task, I was apologetically informed that someone had accidently planted peas in my plant bed. It hadn’t yet been labelled with my name. I didn’t mind. I didn't mind. I liked the idea having unexpected tenants.

Our main task today was to bring order to a patch of chaos in our garden: a slanted brick edge behind our new beds that had become a jungle of weeds. Unruly and unintentional, they needed to go. But we weren't just clearing them to leave a void. In their place, we were planting some Parsley. Something useful. Something wanted.

During tea, I passed around my newest novelty: a laser-cut NFC business card. Pointing to the named mug in my hand, I floated the idea that—just like these—we should all have Dumbiedykes business cards. With talk of upcoming trips and workshops, they’d help identify us, like plant markers. Reusable and less wasteful than paper, they’d represent everything we stand for. Everyone agreed. A few even handed me their own cards to digitise.

One of the volunteers wondered aloud: "Could we do the same for plant markers?" I didn't say it then, but this was something that I was already looking into.

Before wrapping up, another ask came in: could I design a logo for Dumbiedykes? We needed one for a new bank account application.

“Of course,” I replied.

We ended the day by planting parsley in the gaps that the uprooted weeds had left behind—our small attempt at domesticating the jungle.