Monday, March 28, 2022

#18thStreetPollinators - nothing to see, here

I feel like a cat who has just covered up a smelly thing in their litterbox and has dusted off their paws and wants nothing more to do with it. What, that? That wasn't me?! 

But here goes.

Two Wednesdays ago I ignored all the things I should have been doing and went to my friend Hannah's house in Park Slope to dig up plants. She was moving, packing up, and going on a big adventure, and had invited me to take anything in her garden (above) that might appeal to me. I was thrilled, and told her about the park on 18th Street and the plants it needed, and she said I was welcome to them. (For the backstory, visit these links for the #18thStreetPollinator garden, Parts One and Two.)

If only I could undo it.

Hannah lent me her garden clogs. It was muddy. I dug while a cardinal sang.

Very little had emerged, yet, but investigative digging revealed three intriguing mystery plants from a Brooklyn Botanic Garden sale. They had succulent white roots and were making lipstick-pink shoots. I found and dug up the dormant rootstocks of Japanese anemones and astilbe, which were carefully arranged in milk crates that Hannah gave me. The hostas of summer could not be located in mid-March. One crate was devoted to ferns. As I worked a procession of people from a Buy Nothing group perused some stellar free stuff in the apartment. 

As nearby church bells rang noon I pruned back unruly raspberry canes and dug them up with chunks of earth attached to their roots. A loose-limbed and very prickly rambling rose followed. Hannah said its flowers were white. I imagined them in bloom in early summer, and raspberries making fruit for visitors to the park. 

Along with plants donated by the Gowanus Nursery and by Alyse, a neighbor and Instagram friend, this collection would actually create a sense of structure for the plantless park around the corner from where we live. Flowers for pollinators and people. 

When everything was ready I fetched and double-parked the car Brooklyn-style, loaded up, and drove the plants to 18th Street. (Sorry about the plastic trash bags, but that rose really was very prickly.)

At the park I planted the liatris, iris, and lily bulbs that I bought a few days before. I tried not to disturb the alliums that had set the whole thing in motion, and which had already rooted. I placed, and planted, the rest. (My tools were a newly-acquired Fiskars spade and trowel; my terrace-gardening is minimalist: just a fierce Japanese hori, essentially useless in the deep, wood chip mulch, here.) 


The white rose - with a clematis at it feet - and raspberries were planted in the sunniest corner (above) closest to the roaring, exhaust-smelly Fort Hamilton Parkway. Lilies, liatris, alliums, fescues were hidden here, too. I intended planting icy-yellow sunflowers once our last frost-date was a memory (anyone need fancy sunflower seeds)? 


I was done just after 5pm. Tired and sore but pleased. I could see it all in my late May mind's eye. Now the space had shape, albeit incognito until warmer weather. An ideal time to plant, and a solid, essential day of rain to follow.

The next day, around Thursday, noon, I walked by to see how it was all doing in the promised rain. 

I noticed some black trash bags on the sidewalk. Then I saw an unusually deep depression where some of the liatris bulbs had been planted. Something was missing.


I walked quickly into the space and saw at once that Hannah's rose was gone. So were the raspberry canes. The clematis, the astilbe. The 'Eden' rose donated by my friend Michele, from the Gowanus Nursery. All the Heuchera nurtured by Alyse.

Everything.

But the #18thStreetPollinators sign was still there. 

I felt hollow. I looked at the row of houses facing the park. What had they seen?

At home I refunded the three kind people who had donated money (the Donate button had only gone live the day before). 

The next day I wrote to the plant donors. It was the only time I cried. And since then I have tried not to think about it at all. 

So what happened? 

Either: Someone had been watching. And moved in immediately. Or: The NYC Parks Department came by - either scheduled or due to a complaint -  and the workers removed every well-considered plant. This is the most likely scenario. (Except...the bulbs?)

I knew I was guerilla gardening, and I knew it was a risk. That was why I had the sign made. So anyone could go online with the hashtag to find out more. Fingers crossed. Stupid fingers.

So what now? 

It's simple. I quit. Whoever did it, whether through the vandalism of indifference, or through malice, or greed, won.  

Trying to define what flattened me, it is a combination of the destroyed potential, and quite simply, the plants. Just ripped out. I am at a loss.

I know why I did this: to make a beautiful space in a barren piece of land - a wasted, precious park. And, as Russia was invading Ukraine, this seemed a positive thing and a way to channel my own sense of helplessness. But I feel very stupid, and so very bad for the givers of plants. 

As an epitaph, here is what was planted. Possibly some of the bulbs made it.

 Gowanus Nursery:

1 'Eden' rose
2 Hypericum (St. John's-wort)
4 asters
6 fescues (still there, in disguise)
2 yellowroot (these were actually still there, invisible?)

Neighbor Alyse:

Lots of Heuchera
3 Phlox (woodland, I think)
2 hardy geraniums
1 mountain mint
1 sedum-ish perennial

Hannah:

About 14 New York ferns 
2 Christmas ferns
6 Japanese anemones
8-ish Astilbe
3 mystery plants just beginning to produce bright pink shoots
1 rambling white rose
1 clematis
10-ish raspberries 

Me:

8 Lilium henryi
30 Alliums
40 Dutch Iris
60 Liatris 

Thank you. And I am sorry.

29 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Thank you, Nora - silly Blogger didn't notify me of comments so I am only seeing them now.

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  3. I am so sorry to read this, you have my full sympathy. The deflation and sadness compounded by not knowing what happened and no hope of finding out. It was such a positive project! Giving up and moving on sounds like the best thing to do in the circumstances.

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  4. I'm so sorry too. But hey, your intentions were honorable and we were all cheering you on. Sometimes though, you call it a day and go home. And be appreciated elsewhere.

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  5. Don't you dare be sorry! At least you did something. You tried. Way more than most people do. That it ended in heartbreak is not your fault. Chin up! Go plant some stuff somewhere safe because it will make you feel a bit better.

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  6. You did nothing wrong! You and your donors were trying to make this world a better place — the beautiful, loving place that it could and should be!

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    1. I think I was naive. And thank you, Judith.

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  7. So sad after all your efforts. My guess would be that it was a thief. Wouldn't the city have taken the sign as well as the plants?

    Nancy Mc

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    1. That was the really weird thing. The sign.

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  8. Maybe play the long game. You planted the bulbs? Let them come up for a few years. Then add in one more thing. Then a few years later something else?

    I also think it needs to be a more community grassroots effort. If people who live there want plants, may there is a way together they advocate for it.

    Please take some time for your plant loving heart to heal.

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    1. Yes, you are right about involving everyone. That can be someone else's project! And thank you.

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  9. Thank you for trying! I'm so sad for you that it didn't work out (this time). Your gardening is an inspiration. Many green spaces large and small exist becuase of you.

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  10. Oh, Marie! I have "been there, done that, got the T shirt." But it still hurts and now, I hurt for you and the donors and the people who would have loved the park.
    But I think Adriane might be on the right track. For now, settle to something else, like readying your own garden for summer. And sit with V. in candle light,sipping one of your drinks. xx

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    1. I hurt for the actual plants. I wonder where they are?

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  11. I agree with Adriane. When you've stopped hurting, maybe drop a note to those houses across the street, explaining what you were doing, and what happened. If they own it, it will be a fierce garden. And who wouldn't want that beauty right across the street? I thought I left a comment on your previous blog about Lynden Miller being proud of your efforts. Small parks and urban beauty.

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    1. Thank you, Janet. Good idea, but I'm done. Plenty of them passed by while I was working.

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  12. I'm so sorry. I was so excited to follow along on this and thought it was such a neat, civic-minded effort. It's heartbreaking that the patch of ground will stay bare because we collectively as a society can't have nice things :/ I hope you stop feeling bad about this; I'm sure every donor views the effort as a worthy one. And gardeners know too well how fragile and ephemeral gardens are.

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    1. Thank you. I should have been far more re-tape-y about it...

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  13. Oh no! I'm so sorry about this.

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  14. I might say I've been away from my home territory long enough to not know what really went down here, but instinct tells me that this was an official act, although as someone who has been disappointed by anti-garden acts before, I cannot rule out non-official acts of removal. The reason the sign was not taken? Pssibly because it was not the right material (plant) to go with the crew (everything by the book). Did you investigate those bags? If you have a way of contacting the neighbors, you could possibly rally their support. On the other hand, how far is this from your place? Is this a working class neighborhood? Are the benches occupied by old timers on warm days? Sometimes a garden is not wanted by the users of a space. I know, hard to believe. So, I say official act.

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  15. That sucks! There's no other way to put it....it just sucks.

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  16. I suppose you have considered seed bombs? Although you may just want to be done which I totally understand.

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  17. I join you in hurting for the actual plants. Theft of plants as well as mindless official acts have become quite rampant here in Portland in recent times.

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