The edges of the terrace still look like a garden. Lady Emma Hamilton, Windermere, Abraham Darby (and another of those, on the roof). And all the sun-lovin' herbs.
And, as I shuttle between this photogenic gem of a terrace, and the bigger wider one in Harlem (ironically not as easy to photograph, and you know it's all about the pictures!), I am consolidating ideas about the new space, which is so different. There is the uniform line of wraparound weathered wood planters. It is both a boon and challenge. Boon because it's all there, already - lots of linear feet of planting space. Challenge because in long, quite narrow boxes roots become intertwined and plant bullies can crowd out more tentative perennials. In pots they are segregated, and their differing water needs can be meted out easily. Shared planter - everybody gets the same. So there will have to be more discipline in plant choices.
The Harlem terrace, south view.
The terrace floor here on Henry Street is exposed, now. The gravel has been removed, the filter fabric lifted, and the planks of the pressure treated deck revealed. Pots have been coralled, some emptied, in preparation for the second phase of our move to Harlem, with the new terrace, and new light, next week.
Yesterday we moved boxes up there, traveling Manhattan's length on 1st Avenue in a bouncing truck. The Frenchman calculated that he climbed 140 flights of stairs, total. Four flights down to truck, four flights up, and the parlour level stairs over there.
66 Square Feet, May 2012
It was the first rose on this terrace. Arrived as a stick from Texas, and gave us these, last spring:
I cut it back to about three feet, and have no idea, really, how it will respond. I doubt we'll see flowers next spring, even if it recovers, as I think it will want to bloom on canes formed this year. And now there ain't none.
At night it leaks clear fluid from the cut ends. Capillary action undiminished as it pumps water and nutrients to phantom branches, higher up, and over the roof.