So I did take my little SD95 with me after all, hidden in my little evening purse, to the Wave Hill Garden Party last Thursday evening. I needn't have worried. I had plenty of company, amongst the iPhone-wielding younger attendees. While we did not have much time in the gloaming to wander the grounds, I snapped what I could.
Still, I think the best part of the evening was sipping my gin and tonic from an of-our-hipster-times mason jar, which prompted Faity Tuttle to recall that during Prohibition corn liquor was matured by being driven on Virginia's bumpy backroads in the back of a truck; this story being told by someone who is 100 years old, who was present, then, and who could hardly stop laughing long enough to tell the tale.
Slumming it, Vince and I rode up by train from Grand Central, nipped onto the shuttle from the Riverdale station to the garden and met our friends Graeme and Silas. I had not seen the garden in September and must come back, soon. Scott Canning, the director of horticulture, seems to know what he is doing.
We flew by the Alpine garden.
And in the herb garden colchicum were in bloom.
A Frenchie was in bloom, too.
Here is a secret garden surrounded by a hornbeam hedge.
I know what this is. What is it?
It is grass time.
Which also signal a return to the High Line, and to Battery Park...
A good night in the Bronx...