Changeable

I did not know, in May, when I ordered statuesque annuals whose growth peaks in late summer, that we would have to move in August. Lock, stock, and smoking terra cotta.

After last winter killed off all our boxwoods and a blueberry I decided to fill their big pots with annuals, this year. Less expensive. But I wanted height, a presence. Last year's purchased (Seedman) Nicotiana mutabilis seed's enjoyed a 100% germination failure rate, and this year I found these, from Annie's Annuals. A garden design client had asked about ordering plants online and I - a devotee of local garden shops and growers - was disparaging about quality, before I thought I should investigate further. So I guinea pigged myself.

These four inch pots arrived in early May, their soil still damp with Bay Area water, and held in place with ingenious covers and elastic bands and cardboard separators. 

A few of the large, fragile leaves were broken, but I repotted the plants right away, watered them well, and within a couple of weeks they had doubled in size. Their lowest leaves are now over two feet in length, and the most advanced plant is taller than I am. Internet plants get the green light. At least, these do.

The buds open white.

A pale blush begins in the flower.

...and after another day there is rose. 

I had fallen in love with this nicotiana after seeing a clump of them in my mother's Cape Town garden, backlit in the dawn light of a jetlagged morning and subsequently at the BBG.

The subsidiary flower stems grow longer, and cantilever over the broad leaves below.

At night they are lightly scented.

Apart from their vertical interest and fat tropical stricture on the Harlem terrace they are also meant to lure hummingbirds. Like the jewelweed, the agastache, the blablabla.

The smaller, green Nicotiana langsdorfii seeded freely from last year's planting, but - curiously - not a single N. sylvestris came up. Many seeds must have been shed last summer, despite my deadheading.

For now, the tall tobacco plants behave as they did in my spring dreams.

Tall, delicate. Magnets for large bees.

Subject to change.

The June Garden

I skipped so many spring blog posts of the garden (tagged on Instagram as #1stPlaceBK) that I realized I'd better post something early summerish before August. It's not for lack of interest. I am just perpetually five items behind on my To Do list, and blogging comes very last, right now. It's an indulgence, timewise, which I miss. Today I managed to cross off bottling seven quarts of linden flower, elder and honeysuckle cordials, two quarts of flower vinegars, processing 10 lbs of serviceberries, staking 27 lilies (how is that possible?) and the tall nicotianas before a big storm front hit, and building a small bamboo trellis for the scarlet runner beans I planted (with hummingbirds in mind). Still five items behind. So I'm blogging. That was not on the list.

Early summer and the oakleaf hydrangea (above, center) is in full bloom, with the bees ecstatic about it. Honeybees and carpenter bees visit and can barely stagger away with their fat pollen sacs. The hostas have begun to flower. Their crisp, sculptural leaves are a lifesaver in the pots close to the house, where they receive some sun in the mornings in midsummer, but none later and earlier in the year.

One plant of Geranium x cantabrigiense 'Biokovo,' dating back to the Harlem terrace, has now filled five pots. It spreads quickly and is a very good filler for semi shady spots. It flowers prolifically from mid May to mid June. Beside it is a small-leafed Heuchera, which might be Heuchera sanguinea 'Snow Storm.' Behind them are Ligularia japonica, whose huge leaves add interest to the tricky western side of the garden dominated by the ivy wall. Very shady until late in the day when the western sun gives these pots a blast for an hour or two.

After I discovered a local cat in the garden I made a second birdbath nearer the house, between the ostrich ferns and the Rodgersia. The cat was staking out a more secluded one.

Bad cat! It climbed straight up and down the fence (I photographed it through the closed glass kitchen door). Yes, I miss having a cat of our own, very much. I spend a lot of time alone, and a cat companion is still my favourite kind. No, we may not have a cat. Them's the rules. End of story. So we watch for possums, instead.

This side of the garden faces east, with direct sun in the mornings, and also gets some western sun, so I have packed a lot in. As common as they are the two hydrangeas that I bought after we moved here give me great pleasure. They are full, easy to look after, and bloom for a very long time, staggered over months. And they take both summer's blazing heat and the Deep Dark of Winter. The so-called peegee (Hydrangea paniculata) blooms later - I don't even see buds, yet.

A late freeze in spring nailed some of my lily bulbs, which rotted after I had overwintered them carefully in peat-filled baggies in the fridge. But some regal lilies escaped harm and are looking beautiful. At their feet are some South African bulbs - pineapple lily, or Eucomis. They will bloom in late July, I think. 'Black Lace' elderflower on the right.

The fig (rear, above) that the Frenchman bought for me last year, and which the Gowanus Nursery very kindly delivered (it was very heavy) has fruit again - the main crop, on new growth. I am expecting a bird net to be delivered any day now, and then I will wrap it. I lost all the breba figs (on old wood) to some bird. or maybe the dang squirrel/s.

The Nicotiana mutabilis from Annie's Annuals turned out to be mostly lime green, but two were correct. Annie's sent me a gift voucher for the balance to make up for it, after I sent them some pictures and explained what had happened. Very good customer service. In the meantime, many Nicotiana volunteers have germinated in pots, and I have transplanted some to see what they turn out to be. I have grown N. sylvestris, alatus and mutabilis before, and they could be any of those. Again, hopeful hummingbird buffet.

The lovely thimbleweed (Anemone virginiana) I planted the same fall that we moved in (2015). It has filled in nicely and has very tall threadlike stems and dancing flowers, each about an inch across.

The chartreuse Nicotiana don't look bad - I do like them. Especially as a backdrop for the complicated seedpods of Fritillaria raddeana (the frittilarias were a big success in spring).

Some grey sugar peas made it into the perennial beds. They are exquisite. The foxgloves bloomed this year for the first time - I planted them last year, also from Annie's. Unpromisingly named 'Polkadot Pippa' but billed to be everblooming. I'll deadhead and let you know.

And last, one of two perennials that predated our arrival - the ubiquitous day lily (Hemerocallis fulva), long limbed and useful to me because it is edible. And I love the flowers. I divided a massive clump and planted it in two spots.

Next post? Fruits! Or maybe vegetables.

We'll see.

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Roof farm

This nasturtium is happy. Funny, up here the plants are tiny, stunted and packed with flowers. On the terrace below they are gangly, full of broad green leaves, with few flowers; the difference between full sun and much shade. I may prefer the lankier ones as I intend to eat many leaves. I still have an aversion to eating nasturtium blossoms. I am working on it, but it feels like chewing butterflies.

I used to eat the leaves against sore throats when I was a teenager and in my Margaret Roberts phase (the early, illustrated, out-of-print books about medicinal and edible plants, wild and cultivated, are so much better than the rather horrid website - the idea of "Fairy Ship" gives me the heebie jeebies).

The long shallow troughs have not done well this year.* Last year they were popping with mesclun.

I am still curious about the slow start on the roof farm. Only now, after feeding, have things started to perk up and green up (two weeks ago many leaves were yellow). Above the Sugar Baby watermelons clamber over the beaded sheep.

These are red pear tomatoes with volunteer nicotiana, which is interesting - I had one nicotiana plant on the terrace way below. How did the seeds get up and over here? I love the plants but may give them away. They make good gifts for new gardeners. I am nursing a dozen hardy begonias for the same purpose, all sprouted on the terrace floor. I had no idea they were so prolific or easy.

And suddenly I have lettuce, some of which overwintered. Really odd. I had thought it was too late.

* It occurs to me suddenly that my troughs may simply be too hot. Last year they were on the silvertop roof. This year they are on the bluestone-clad parapet wall between our roof and Raccoon House's roof and the hot bluestone must heat up the soil in the pots. Poor things. I will move them tomorrow.

Flowers

The vine whose name I can never remember, growing in the living wall of trees and shrubs at the lower boundary of my parents' garden. Sweetly scented and luminously white at night.

Trachelospermum jasminoides, or Confederate jasmine, is native to South Africa. Although it was well-established in its pot already, I attached a few leading stems to the pergola on the Constantia patio a year ago and it has filled in well. The flowers scent our morning breakfasts of coffee and croissants. Above, at 6-something a.m. the bars of the pergola are shading it in stripes

before the sun has risen enough to warrant the awning being extended to shade the hot bricks beneath.

Nicotiana mutabilis, for its changing colours. A new nicotiana for me - I love the plant. Tiny flowers on delicate stems.

A narrow view of things

Sometimes, when you look at, or consider, or try to capture, the big picture, you lose sight of it altogether. Sometimes, looking at small things shows you what the big thing really is.

So here is a look at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, up close, in early September. I had a meeting there on Thursday, late in the afternoon, and had a little time to look at things on my way home, afterwards. There is  a lot to see.

Lobelia siphilitica grows beside the pond in the Japanese Garden, and I have also seen it at on the edge of the bog garden at Pier One, in Brooklyn Bridge Park. Safe to say it likes to have wet feet and takes shade. Tall, up to three feet high.

Ha! The medlar. What will happen to them? Right now they are as hard as the nuts they resemble. I am very curious about their flavour and smell, post frost and bletting.

Moonflowers grow on the gazebo in the middle of the Cranford Rose Garden. They open in the last part of the afternoon, pant all night, and fold early the next morning.

Nicotiana sylvestris, cleome, and Verbena bonariensis in the Magnolia Plaza.

Scented.

Nicotiana mutabilis in the Fragrance Garden.

And...what's this? Anyone? Sarah - are you there? In the perennials near the pond at the rose arches...

And another, same place?

Rose hips in the rose garden. It is September, after all.

Looking: it may give you the courage to see.

Glass half...?

For the days when you are upright and stringing together entire sentences, fragrant cardamom and Thai basil leaves are fantastic in a gin and tonic - reason enough to grow both (the cardamom overwinters indoors). I sip this while potting up perennials. I am ungardening. Unplanting. Pulling up roots. Today I did the deadly ones. Wolf's bane. Doll's eyes. I turned my eyes skywards and breathed deeply. Then washed my hands really well.

Sometimes you make like a grass and bend in the wind. And sometimes you lie flat with the covers over your head and howl.

Gradually, in-ground plants are being dug up and potted, fed, watered, and allowed to settle, ahead of our move. Plastic pots of all sizes have been donated by Michele, my friend who owns the wonderful Gowanus Nursery. She has also given me recycled soil, saving me a packet. We fetched the soil late on Sunday, after a day spent in the upstate woods. 

Sometime this month, probably in the last week, the plant party will happen. 

No, we don't have a move date (but the cut-off is the end of September) and no, we have not found the right space, yet. It will be a magical combination of the rent we can afford, the space we need, a neighborhood we like, and enough light that we don't want to slit our wrists. 

The Nicotiana (scented N. alata and pretty mutabilis) are in their second flush; I cut down their first flowering stalks about four weeks ago, and they sent more up. Don't let yours languish when those first flowers are spent: be brave, mow them down, and they will do it all over again. And again. The tall white cleome are transplants from the pots at our front door, on the opposite side of the house. They are much happier here in the back garden, with less heat. They are very thirsty plants, and I have to water them every day.

It may seem crazy to tend a garden that is being undone. It may be crazy to have planted the arugula, purslane, amaranth, and fenugreek seeds that are now coming up. But I am a gardener. I grow things. Neglect and indifference are symptoms of an inner death. 

And I am very much alive. 

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Late summer light

Our twilight is reflected from the tall wall of the building on our terrace's eastern edge. The sinking western sun is hidden from us by more buildings, but bounces down to make the terrace a strange pink in the late August evenings.

The Nicotiana mutabilis are very tall, now, and speak unexpectedly to the pinks and apricot of the Agastache 'Acapulco,' also planted for pollinators and hummingbirds. Honey bees still besiege the calamintha, and when they leave, a single firefly blinks in the dying light.

Tomatoes are often on the menu, now. Stuffed here with rice and dill and little bits of leftover lamb (the lamb-less version is in my book). In the glasses, very cold prosecco with sliced white peaches from the tiny but excellent farmers market on Lenox and  West 118th.

We still save up stories from our days, for supper conversation. The Frenchman tells me about The Man with the Dog, The Man in the Suit, and The Tide of Construction Workers - all regular and developing themes from his Harlem-Empire State Building subway commute.

Nights are hot, but the terrace always seems cooler. While we eat we listen to the small yapping dog whose location we have never been able to pinpoint. Occasionally, in the last few weeks, there is an eruption of angry shouting from the homeless shelter across the way. It used to be very quiet, but something has changed - new management, I think. We wait for Korean Air's Airbus A380 to lumber overhead, on initial approach to JFK - its wide wings and massive tail are unmistakeable at 13,000 feet. And sometimes the American kestrel perches at the top of the homeless shelter's fire escape and scans for careless pigeons.

City life. Day in, day out.

August terrace

Lots has happened on the terrace in the brief period we were away. It is a reminder that things grow. All the time. Perhaps the rain had something to do with it. The self seeded foxtail grass is a sign of autumn, for me. See the pictures on the sidebar of the blog, for the first foxtail against the orange wall. Has a year ever happened so fast? Is it simply age? Faster and faster? One moment I was gasping about the heat and the next I am thinking about September suppers and cool night air.

And there is so much to do.

A few weeks ago I separated the three hollyhocks that germinated from Dan's seeds from Fire Island. This one has gone bonkers, just over the last few days. I need to put it in a big pot and may take out the nicotiana to accommodate it.

Earlier today I looked up to see the black wings of the Black Tiger Swallowtail flitting about near the parsley and I dashed out with my camera but it had apparently accomplished what it had come to do: the parsley is now officially a human-free zone. Bother. No, I won't throw the caterpillars off the terrace this time. I'll be good.

What's this? Another potential bugger? Looks like a lady bug nymph again. But it's not. It's the first swallowtail child! She must have been laying eggs in stages. or it could be offspring of a different butterfly.

This is the doomed Eglantyne, looking very fetching. But the plant is not happy. Wrong situation.

And the Strawberry 'Fern.' I keep mentioning the cultivar because it's such a good performer. Now even the baby plants have flowers and fruit beginning to set, too!


I ate the ripe ones.

The strawberry nursery is expanding so fast that I am going to have to give some away, and pot the rest on the roof farm. I have about fourteen little plants.

And the overripe figs hanging on the tree? They are in the oven, drying. Then I'll have to figure out what to do with them.

I watered the farm in the dark, last night. The zucchini are still there and look very healthy judging by the size of the leaves and the squash was full of blossoms. I'll eat them tonight. My Frenchie is working late. The cucumbers look rather shattered, and we'll see about the tomatoes. I have troughs ready for chervil (I was very excited to find seed, I love the herb), mixed 'spicy microgreens', upland cress and mesclun.

I am also thinking of recipes for dried white shortnose native corn; I had the occasion to interview and photograph the artist Christina Kelly a while ago, about her Brooklyn Maize Fields which have and are producing corn she would like to exhibit in edible form at the upcoming Farm City Fair to be held on September 12th at the Invisible Dog Art Center on Bergen Street, just up the road from her Boerum Hill maize field. I am thinking along the lines of pozole, and Christina mentioned that she might be able to source some bear meat.

Yes, bear. If she can't get bear it will have to be wild boar. So...I'm trying to remember what I've read about bear. Poor bear.

So, plenty to think about. Now I must check on the mealie bugs on the patio tomato on the roof.