Tuesday, July 19, 2016
While I have posted here on the progress of our 1st Place garden, I recently charted the 12-month process in one story for Gardenista:
Rehab Diary: A Year in the life of a Brooklyn Garden
We have been in Carroll Gardens for almost a year, and this July is very different from the frantic one we did not enjoy last year, looking at endless potential apartments with a wide array of outdoor spaces, packing, and getting ready to move.
As I type I look out of a window into the new garden and see at its farthest edge some sunchokes (Helianthus tuberosus) growing eight feet tall. Yes, I measured them this morning. Superchokes. I planted them late last year for their edible tubers and late summer flowers, but also for some botanical privacy, as a leafy screen against an ugly fence. They seem happy.
Last night as we ate pizza (rare take out from Lucali's, nearby) we saw two raccoons trotting after one another along the white birch pole fence.
Bolted leafy greens have been taken out of the farm (the central vegetable plot), many more seeds been sown.
I will travel far south soon, to the southern tip of Africa. While I am away the Frenchman, and then when he joins me, two gardening friends (Julia and Kirstin) who live in the hood, will look after watering. But no one is expected to weed (frowned upon by the United Nations Agreements on Human Rights) and I wonder what I will find when I return. As the weather changes, new species of weeds emerge in waves.
In a brutal age (but would the methods of Genghis Khan, the Spanish Inquisition, the Thirty Years War, the First World War, Vietnam, be less brutal? - we had no social media then to broadcast everything to everyone in real time; humans are not worse, we are just connected) a garden - where sorrow and delight coexist on a botanical plane - becomes an even greater privilege and refuge.
If you can, find one, or help make one.