Tuesday, September 18, 2018

The end of a season

Elderberry syrups and gin. Started in August, bottled in September. I have some sumac vodka and sugar (all recipes in Forage, Harvest, Feast) in mason jars right now, and those will be the last forages to be bottled before we move, soon.

I will miss this kitchen very much. The glass door to the garden (I now think every kitchen should have a door to a garden), the little window beside the stove. It is a small space, but very efficient, and one of the two bright spots in this long, ground-floor apartment (the other is the bedroom, at the opposite end).

Many things, small and large, framed our nearly three-month search for a new apartment, after this lease was not renewed. Good natural light for my photography (and sanity), a decent kitchen - no dark cabinetry and ancient black appliances (food photos, again). A good floor... you laugh, but the floors we have seen. Light fittings from hell. The notorious nipple light. Good proportions - which includes everything from ceiling height to room size to window width to distance between sink and bath. A neighborhood where we feel at home.

We have found many of them in our new space, near Prospect Park. It is pricier than 1st Place, and slightly smaller. But the top-floor apartment (no thumping upstairs neighbors!) has been gut-renovated with an unusually fastidious and good eye for detail, light, and that sense of proportion that can make or break a room. The place has been finished with a sense of integrity that only two others we have seen, shared. We have seen dozens. The terrace is small, it's about 100 square feet, but it is very private. It will be a relief to sip a cup of coffee in genuine solitude. But I will miss the birds, and the wandering possums.

The proximity of Prospect Park (and Green-Wood) is wonderful, for me. But it is far from the Frenchman's important twice-weekly running route home from Manhattan, so he loses. Some of our things will have to go into storage. And this Thursday I hope many plants will find new homes, as dozens of friends, forage walkers, and gardeners come to adopt them.

It is friends who have kept my nose above 2018's rising waters. To each of them, thank you. You are extraordinary.


  1. Wishing you much health and happiness in the new place -- I know you will make it into a home very quickly. And thank you for taking readers like me from garden to garden.

  2. I feel like I have come to know you over the past few years. I think of you as one of my friends - silly ain’t it! But your welfare is important to me, and I feel a sense of relief that you have found a place you can be happy in.
    All the very best in your new place, and keep up the fantastic work you do - I count on your beautiful writing and your outlook on life ( which I often share ) to bring me inspiration and joy.
    😘 inga

  3. Can't wait to see what wonderful green things you will be planting... Winter is coming... you'll have time to recharge and recreate. Hope you'll give us a glimpse. You inspire us! Cheers on your new digs!

  4. I also depise the notorious "nipple" light. 😕

  5. I hope you do see birds in your new place; it's not out of the question!

  6. Like Inga above I also feel like I've come to know you as a friend. And like you I had a stretch of moves that just about broke me (building fire, water damage in the next place, condo conversion, all in 5 years). I wish you happiness, coffee in the sunshine, new ideas, and yes those birds. They will find you don't worry and your life will be richer for it. We all look forward to your new adventures and your lovely garden in the sky.

  7. I look forward to seeing what you do with the new place!

  8. Bless you and the Frenchman may you find peace in your new apartment.


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