In the Garden: An Almanac for Uprooting

by Amber Stewart

In the Garden: An Almanac for Uprooting is a literary memoir about a queer couple who left their home in Nashville after Tennessee's anti-trans legislation threatened their family, and what it meant to start over as immigrants in Montevideo, Uruguay. A book about exile, belonging, grief, and the unexpected grace of planting a life somewhere new.

Genres: Nonfiction

227 pages, Kindle Edition

Published June 21, 2026

Reviews

[Liralen · Rating 4 out of 5]

The writing had been on the wall for some time when Stewart and her wife pulled the plug. They'd never wanted to leave Tennessee—but it was no longer safe to stay.

I've heard so many people have conversations about this: not just about the US, but these days, in particular, yes, it's about the US. It's one of those things you only think about, or think about seriously, if you're in certain populations, but those populations are vast. For most, the question is ultimately theoretical, but for Stewart and her wife, it was a lot more than that: They had a plan, and they executed that plan. Put a pause on garden plans. Acquired visas, found an apartment, learned Spanish.

Uruguay never would have occurred to me as a haven country in these circumstances, not because I have preconceived notions about it but because I really know almost nothing about it. That's a big part of why I picked up the book; I'm perpetually curious about places I've never been, and of course this has the added bonus (if we can call it that) of involving issues near and dear to me. This is ultimately more about those issues, and the emotional process of upheaval (in many ways this is a refugee story, though Stewart rightly notes the difference in who gets called an immigrant and who gets called an expat, and the same applies to the word "refugee" here), than it is about Uruguay. I did wish at times for more place-specific details; it was fascinating to learn that Uruguay has such strong social protections for LGBTQ people (up there with Iceland and Norway), but I'd also have been very curious about just...more of the daily-life things.

A solid 3.5 stars, and a good one for anyone who has spent time thinking about immigration and human rights, for recent political reasons and for many others.

Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.

[Cym & Her Books 🍉 · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thank you NetGalley and the author for an e-ARC in exchange for my honest review!

5 stars

A poignant and heartbreaking memoir-in-essays, In the Garden: An Almanac for Uprooting follows a queer couple's exile from the United States after significant shifts in American policy, including the overturning of Roe v. Wade. Living in Saskatchewan, I can empathize with the ways government policy can negatively affect the 2SLGBTQ+ community, though I recognize the privilege of never having felt the need to leave my home because of it.

Throughout the book, the author wrestles with the painful contradiction of loving where she comes from while also grieving the systems and structures that continue to harm both her and her spouse. That tension between belonging and self-preservation is explored with honesty and vulnerability.

This book was spiritually fulfilling during a time of uncertainty in my own life, making the title, "...An Almanac for Uprooting, especially fitting. While uncertainty and the unknown can be deeply uncomfortable, this memoir is a reminder that change, even when born from loss, can also create space for unexpected beauty, growth, and hope.

[Georgia T-S · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thanks to Netgalley for the ARC!

I don't think there's a queer and/or trans person in my life who I haven't had the 'where would you go if it gets worse?' conversation with. Most times it ends with the realisation that most of the world is cut off anyway, that immigration isn't as easy as it used to be, and that's for those in a privileged position, it was never easy for a huge majority of people to begin with. That, and that the rest of the world is just as bad if not worse off than we are right now… So, what do we do, and how serious do we have to take those pipe dream plans of banding together to buy some land with our non-existent savings and giving off-grid communal living a try. In practice that's probably not something I'm built for, though I might like to give it a try considering the alternatives... and I do like to think about escape routes, if or when the need should arise.

Amber and Jamie spent a lot of time thinking about whether they should or shouldn’t take that leap and what it means to be reluctant to leave your home behind even as it rejects you so thoroughly. Even I, as a very distant observer, felt so much sadness and confliction through Stewart being forced to leave the land she felt that connection to and the depth at which she explored and wished for the love she had for it to be reciprocated. For me, I don't feel that love for the UK, though I have affection for it, I do not feel that draw to stay. There are people I would stay for, do anything for, but the place itself… And that's the main part of it right, other than the shameful history our country cannot and should not erase, if my country could love me and could love those considered minorities who bring it so much (and I do not mean in a simply productive, capitalist way) then maybe it'd feel different. That's what Stewart explores here, and the anguish tied up in it all is clear.

We get an insight into this relationship over the years, we're privy to Stewart's thoughts around creativity, ancestry, community and what we leave behind. In general, the way in which Stewart allows us to read her explorations of self, relationships, mental and physical health are really powerful and vulnerable. The memoir overall is so relatable and beautifully written.

One phrase I keep coming back to, which was only a tiny moment in this book, is ‘boredom is generative’. The idea that finding or letting yourself be bored can be the moment you are subsequently at your most creative and fruitful. Seeing as, currently, the word generative is only followed by AI the phrasing of this stood out more now than it would have previously. And the short consideration of how boredom and safety are intrinsically linked is so interesting and so true. In times of trauma and stress there is no time for boredom. And therefore little time for creation, your brain is too wired, unable to settle - fight or flight can only stand, frozen, using all its energy to remain poised ready to dart. How could there be strength left for anything else?

“And thank God for boredom! For the rapturous moments that you realize you are obligated to nothing except that which your imagination can create. Boredom shows up when you know that you can make use of your time, when no one else’s demands are on it: no nation, no employer, no political movement. I praise God for boredom because it tells me that I am, perhaps finally, safe, that I need not fear where we will be next because we are content where we are. I praise boredom because it is generative, because when I sit and do not know what to do with my time, I must find ways to fill it."

Throughout the memoir we got to witness the couple's struggles with conception and how that impacted everything in their lives. That long drawn out process and the havoc it caused on Stewart's mind and body was difficult to read and also very informative for someone who knows so little of that world.

The construction of the book with blackout poetry, lists and facts breaking up sections was great. As someone who also wants to connect to the land more, but has no space to do so and not that much previous luck with keeping plants alive, I got it. I understood what Stewart was trying to build, what the potential of old fruit trees meant to her. When I was ill and there was a time I could barely use my hands I wondered if I'd be able to safely get them in the dirt again. In the future, the failure of my allotment would weigh heavily on me, feeling as though I'd failed at something much more primal and fundamental than just some flowers and spring onions - and what if we couldn't get my grandma's so well loved raspberry bushes to take again? But we try again anyway.

There's so much more I think I could write here but I'd just end up writing my own, much less compelling, memoir over the structure of Stewart's and no one needs that! 

Overall, I couldn't stop reading and didn't want to, even though the anxiety and stress were bleeding through. What a brave, soul-baring piece of work that is so personal and so universal too. The writing was poetic and informative in an accessible and relatable way. It was so interesting to read about a very different immigration experience to the ones we commonly see. I knew absolutely nothing about Uruguay but it's on my radar now. I hope in the future we get the chance the check in and find out what's happened since. This was a poignant tale and, though it is one as old as time, it is also one that speaks to the now and the disgraceful world we are becoming.

I hope we can all find that garden someday.

[Mari · Rating 4 out of 5]

In the Garden is a deeply personal collection of essays about love, loss, faith, queerness, politics , and the difficult process of building a life when the future you once imagined begins to slip out of reach.

I picked up this book partly because I am not religious myself, but I have always been interested in understanding how queer people can find something meaningful and sustaining in God and the Bible. In the Garden gave me many thoughts to sit with, although perhaps not quite the answers I was looking for. Amber herself seems to be searching. She is trying to find her way back into a dialogue with God, or perhaps trying to figure out whether that dialogue is still possible at all. In the middle of everything happening to her and Jamie, faith does not appear as a simple source of comfort or certainty. Instead, it becomes another relationship she has to struggle with, question, and sometimes return to.

What I appreciated most about the book is that it refuses to turn suffering into a neat story of triumph. This is not a story in which everything eventually works out, injustice is overcome, and Amber and Jamie emerge stronger and happier because of everything they have endured. There are setbacks, painful realizations, and truths that cannot simply be undone. The book feels honest about the fact that sometimes there is no satisfying resolution only the decision to continue.

That idea of continuing stayed with me.

I recently heard a German podcast discussing resistance, particularly forms of female resistance, and the idea that resistance does not always have to mean destroying the existing system. Sometimes, when people do not have the same access to power or the same means of fighting back, resistance can mean simply continuing: staying alive, building a life, refusing to give up. That is something I found particularly powerful in Amber and Jamie's story. Their persistence feels political without always being presented as political. Growing something, loving someone, trying to become parents, creating a home, leaving when staying becomes impossible, and then trying to put down roots somewhere new all of these things become ways of refusing to let fear or injustice determine the entirety of their lives.

The first half of the book was especially strong for me. Amber's writing is accompanied by blacked-out excerpts from a farmer's calendar, and these fragments add another layer of meaning to the essays. The recurring language of planting, seasons, growth, and cultivation beautifully mirrors Amber's longing to put down roots and create something lasting. The garden becomes much more than a literal place. It becomes a way of thinking about family, belonging, home, and the future.

At the same time, the political reality of Tennessee is never far away. The references to anti-trans legislation make the threat to people like Jamie and, by extension, Amber feel immediate and painfully real. Their lives are not taking place in a political vacuum. Decisions made by politicians have consequences for their ability to feel safe, to plan a future, and eventually even to remain in the country they call home.

Their attempts to become parents add another deeply physical and emotional dimension to the book. Amber writes about the procedures, hormones, injections, and medication, as well as the hope and disappointment surrounding them. These passages make the desire for the future they imagined feel tangible and make the eventual realization that this future may not be possible all the more painful.

Eventually, the question of whether they can remain in the United States becomes impossible to ignore. They leave for Uruguay, hoping to find a place where they can live without the fear that has increasingly shaped their lives. But leaving does not magically create a new home. In Uruguay, they encounter different social rules, a new language, and the strange experience of realizing that home can suddenly be reduced to an apartment rather than a landscape, a community, or a network of familiar people.

And yet Amber continues to try to put down roots.

That, perhaps, is what I took most from In the Garden . Roots are not necessarily something we discover. Sometimes they are something we have to grow deliberately, painfully, and repeatedly. Sometimes we have to leave the place where we thought our roots would remain forever and try to grow new ones somewhere else.

“This life, it may not be perfect, but it is mine. And I have the freedom to choose it on my own terms, relieved of the fear that overtook me every day in the US.”

I don't think In the Garden gave me the straightforward understanding of queer faith that I initially hoped to find. But it gave me something perhaps more valuable: an honest account of what it can look like to keep searching for faith while simultaneously questioning it, and to keep searching for home when the place you once called home no longer feels safe.

It is a book about uncertainty more than certainty, about endurance more than victory, and about the quiet, stubborn act of continuing to build a life even when the life you are building looks nothing like the one you originally imagined.

[E.Reads · Rating 5 out of 5]

TW for : infertily, transphobia and homophobia

I have to preface this by saying I'm not USAmerican, so while I can sympathize with the author, I will never know the grief of feeling like your country betrayed you. Of feeling unsafe and in a constant state of anxiety and fear in what used to be Home.

The book is incredibly touching and really well written. It touches on infertility and the desire for motherhood, on love, hopes, dreams and the intense need to feel like we belong, like we can put roots down and feel safe there. It's about grieving your homeland and the desire to make a new country your home, to build a life you can feel safe and happy in. On having to change and grieve our dreams for the future when our bodies and circumstances won't allow for said dreams.
It touches on the author's sometimes complicated relationship with her God and church, but it's never preachy. I'm an atheist and always weary when a memoir starts to talk a lot about religion because it usually ends up feeling preachy and like their God is The God. This book didn't do that at all. It's about the author's journey through religious trauma, about learning what her relationship with her own believes are. It's incredibly personnal and vulnerable.

This whole book is incredibly vulnerable. It takes a lot to show yourself to the world so raw, to expose your fears and faults, your tears and hopes, and the author did this very well. There's poetry in the author's prose and the emotions are palpable.

More memoir than essays, I can only recommand this book to non USAmerican and USAmericans alike. Weither you want to understand a perspective different from yours (queer USAmercians, immigrants, infertility, ...) or feel seen, I think everyone will get something out of In The Garden.

A copy of this book was provided to me by the author via NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

[Ariana Maher · Rating 5 out of 5]

It's very odd to read a memoir from someone who's in a period of life that mirrors my own recent experiences so closely, but overall it was an engaging read.

Like the author, I also had an established life in the U.S and decided to uproot for life overseas. I am a citizen and had hoped to continue living in the 'States for the rest of my life. But in 2022, the Uvalde Shooting occurred and witnessing the aftermath on the news was the final straw for my family. We decided to move overseas, just as the author had. We had a similar time window as well. So it was fascinating for me to read Amber's story, as if much of it feels like a record of my own journey. Many of her thoughts and concerns were my own as well. Although I do not share her spiritual journey (I am agnostic), I did find her through her religious upbringing and her current relationship to religion to be an integral part of her story and I appreciated how she shares that in her writing.

I think this memoir will one day be a notable point of reference for those in the future trying to understand this particular period in history -- the whys, the hows, and the emotional turmoil that went into the decision many Americans made to migrate from the U.S. to find a new life abroad. This is a story about grief and also about hope.

[Amanda · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is, in a word, beautiful. Timely and well-written, it takes you on the journey of Amber's struggle with the religion (and culture) she was raised in and the changing landscape that leaves so many of us isolated, unwanted, and afraid.

I appreciated Amber's raw honesty and felt the emotion and struggle as she and her wife navigated questions of belonging, safety, and how to maintain something so vital to them (religion) within an area that is becoming more hostile to them.

I found myself asking, "What is the church?" and taking small comfort in the reminder that the U.S. church is not the global church, and that the answers we need may have to be found outside of ourselves.

I hope Amber writes more! I love her voice and her way of phrasing things. Her writing often felt like talking to an old friend.

[E · Rating 5 out of 5]

(Note: I read this fir free through an ARC, but this review is entirely my own opinion)
Beautifully poetic, yet aggravating— not at the book itself, but at the conditions of the United States. It’s crazy to think that it’s 2026 and there is so much hate and fear in this world and unfortunately things do not seem to be progressing in the right direction…
Don’t read this with a faint of heart. There’s this layer of vulnerability and sensibility felt throughout. You will be brought on a journey through a roller coaster of emotions in addition to a good giggle regarding the gardening outcomes.
I love how this also included real facts and blackout poetry! I would read this again

[Tolly Wilder · Rating 5 out of 5]

My obviously unbiased opinion of my sisters debut novel:

Amber does such an incredible job of bearing her soul and sharing her experience with leaving the US and moving to Montevideo. I am so proud of her and my sister-in-law for making the uncomfortable decision to keep themselves safe in a time where they are targeted. I am so so proud to call Amber my sister.

Obviouslyyyyy I highly recommend.

[Kat · Rating 5 out of 5]

Amber shares her journey through fertility treatments, wrestling with family and love as a queer woman, and leaving the US for a hope of a safer life abroad with raw emotion and beautiful writing. Thank you for sharing your story with us.

[Debbie · Rating 3 out of 5]

An important topic and a documented story of a couple. It will have fans and provides an important narrative. Thank you to the author. Thank you to # NetGalley and the publisher for an ARC.

[WallofText · Rating 4.5 out of 5]

[Digital copy provided by Netgalley]

Very powerful work. Poetically written while maintaining a very legible structure. Stunning word choices, emotionally very vulnerable and impactful. Could have explored a few themes a bit more deeply, but overall a fantastic read.

[Sapphiclit club · Rating 3 out of 5]

Thank you to the author and Independent Book Publishers Association (IBPA) for providing this book for review consideration via NetGalley.

This novel is a memoir in essay format by a queer author married to a trans woman. As more and more anti-LGBTQ+ legislation is introduced in the United States, they both feel the need to leave the country and ultimately do so before Trump is elected president. I was interested in reading this because I, too, do not live in my home country and have actually lived abroad for over 15 years. I was curious about the author's perspective as well as their experiences living in Uruguay.

I found the writing easy to read and engaging, but the "story" portion of the memoir dragged a bit as they debated whether to move or not. I was also not particularly interested in all of the church and Bible discussions, as someone who is neither religious nor interested in Christianity. I wasn't aware that this would be such a significant part of the book.

The section toward the end dealing with the distinction between expats and immigrants felt fairly judgmental and critical. Technically, all expats are immigrants, whether they describe themselves as such or not. Differentiating yourself from an expat while still not being fluent in the language of the country in which you reside felt a touch hypocritical and precious to me.

This is a quick, easy read if you're interested in queer memoirs. I had thought it would be more of a guide to leaving and settling in another country, but that is not what this book is. Instead, it focuses more on the mental journey someone takes when they realize their current home is no longer sustainable and the transition of having to act on that realization.

[Jocelyn · Rating 4 out of 5]

In the Garden is written in a beautiful way, weaving together poetry, actual pages from farmer’s almanacs, and longer essays. The book is a tapestry in the same way Stewart’s life is: formed from different pieces and improved by creative risk. I found myself sucked into both the story and the easy-to-digest way it was written.

Full review: https://writethroughthenight.com/ambe...