Winter table

...in the Constantia kitchen. All the yellow citrus (left and rear) are from the tree in the garden and have very, very pale green flesh, no seeds, and are tremendously juicy. My mom says they are limes, not lemons.

The quinces smell like quinces (in other words, wonderful) and are being used in a lamb stew that I will take to my cousin's house for a thing she calls a Slump - friends get together at the end of the week for a casual supper and are allowed to go home early, if they are tired. It sounds a bit like my middle of the week botanical drinks for plant-minded people.

I cook the quinces first for many hours so that they turn a ruby red - you must leave the skins and pips in the water, a trick I learned from my Turkish friend Bevan.

Not like New York winters at all, is it?

Sunbird central

I am at the southern tip of Africa. and in my mother's Constantia garden the sunbird population appears to have tripled since I was here last, almost a year ago. Slammed by stupendous jet lag I sat sleepless and comatose with camera and watched the birds for a long time in the morning. My pictures are not very good. When the Frenchman gets here he will do these delightful birds justice.

These pictures are all of lesser double collared sunbirds, very small, but bigger than the hummingbirds I hope to see back in Brooklyn later in the year. There are lots of winter flowers for them to feed on right now, like the Cape honeysuckle (Tecoma capensis), above. Also, the bird above is not panting, but singing.

Above: I have forgotten this plant's name. Anyone? I think South American. [Ah, got it: Cestrum 'Newellii' - hardy to Zone 9-ish, if you're in the U.S.]

And then there is the junk food drive-through: sugar water.

Some people dye it red but it is not necessary (and use beet juice, if you must). Spot all the sunbirds above?

This dainty female stuck to the prolific Cotyledon flowers.

In other bird news we rescued an Egyptian goose gosling - a very small baby - which is now in a box in a warm place. We named him Farouk, and tomorrow must figure out what to do with him. Or her. In which case Farouk will not do.  The big geese were scared off by a dog in the greenbelt and somehow Farouk landed up near the house stuck in a drain. He has a mighty peep.

A garden's story

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.

High Line

The ever-changing flower scene on the High Line is a great New York pleasure. While I am often allergic to the Popular, here is an exception. Despite the tourist throngs and the slow walkers (I am a fast walker), I love seeing these plants, and feel lucky to be able to experience the change from month to month.

The pictures above and below belong to late May.

The Frenchman's iconic place of work, sticking out below:

Allium 'Everest,' below - a couple did well in my garden this year, but a few in the back rotted and turned out funny-looking. Probably due to bad drainage.

And June, below: Baptisia alba.

I had never liked astilbe until I saw these pink sweeps.

The beginnings of liatris, below, my new favourite flower in my own garden - tough, and effortless.

Echinacea and leadplant (Amorpha canescens):

Milkweeds. Asclepias tuberosa is the orange. A. purparascens, below

And beautiful bee balm, Monarda.

July and late summer are also very good times to visit, so if you're in town, don't skip. Afterwards, go to Chelsea Market and buy some impeccable fish at The Lobster Place, or just sit down and order sushi or lobster at the bar.

Rattes in a cage

Stupidly, I did not note when exactly I planted these potatoes, known as les rattes. Fingerlings. But it was late April. From potatoes that had sprouted. By early May the first leaves had poked up above the ground and I started mounding earth up against their stems.

I dug them up on the 4th of July (so about 8 weeks after planting) and we ate the first ones that night in a Niçoise salad, with quick-pickled beets, and arugula and lettuce leaves, purple basil and chives from the garden, plus the obligatory eggs.

They have a firm, waxy texture and very good, slightly nutty flavour. The second portion was eaten as a potato salad with mayonnaise and crisp celery heart (try and find organic celery - it is one of the most sprayed crops out there, as it is is a bug magnet), and I'll pan-roast the last batch. If I can stand to turn on anything that generates heat. It is very hot and very muggy.

July report

Early July, and the Formosa lilies are open, with the 'Silk Road' close behind. And the gloriosas are in bloom along the fences. The single row of fingerling potatoes has been dug and we ate the biggest ones last night in a Niçoise salad. Arugula has bolted but I'm leaving the flowers for the bees for now. The painted ponies have needle-sized beans. Five tomatillo plants are flourishing, one is puny. The fennel has been occupied by eastern tiger swallowtail caterpillars, and the sparrows are helping me with aphids.

I have sown more cilantro, and some fenugreek.

At night, the fireflies dance.

It is Wednesday and I am trying a new thing, cocktail hour for plant people. Botanical drinks, botanical bitching. Or perhaps we'll talk about football.

Yeah, right.

Or perhaps we will just melt. It is very hot: 100'F/38'C forecast for today.

Macy's Fireworks 2016 and the Butterfly Meadow

The most recently planted area of Brooklyn Bridge Park to open was the Butterfly Meadow, at the end of Pier 6. It's filled in well, and in May irises were blooming in the boggy bits.

I was there again recently and already the seasonal change is dramatic.

I must check the park's plant list to find out what the yellow daisies are, but the Joe-Pye weed (Eupatorium purpureum) has begun to open (so has mine, back on 1st Place).

And above, a bit of sleuthing and Googling over drinks (makrut-bergamot gin with tonic) at an inaugural plant persons cocktail hour at our place led to the identification of Filipendula rubra - the tall pink plumes in the background. I had never associated the name with this plant, an eastern U.S. native like a giant astilbe crossed with goatsbeard (Aruncus). Fantastic height.

We'll stick out noses in here tonight but it might be pandemonic: the 40th Macy's 4th-of-July fireworks show will be staged in the East River, this year. There will be a double barge of fireworks moored south of the Brooklyn Bridge and the whole of Brooklyn might be camped out, here (if you'd forgotten, Brooklyn would be the fourth largest city in the USA if it weren't a mere borough of New York City; so that's a lot of campers).There will be four other barges higher up, between 23rd Street and 37th. Go there! Also, parts of FDR Drive will be closed off for public viewing. Go there!

And may it be a peaceful night of nothing more explosive than pretty colours.