Bzzzzzz

In front of our building, in a patch of earth about two-by-two feet, entirely surrounded by concrete, I planted some perennials for pollinators. The tall hyssop (Agastache) was bought as a tiny thing last year from the Gowanus Canal Conservancy, a not-for-profit that also creates swale gardens along some local streets, to guide runoff from storms into the planted areas. The hyssop is now close to five feet tall. The bee balm (Monarda) in front of it just opened its buds and has unusually small but pretty flower heads. I am not sure if this is because of stress, or whether it is a cultivar bred for them. It is rambunctious. Ideal as a naturalizer in full sun. Plus, leaves that taste like oregano. The unseen bronze fennel behind them is also flowering and already attracting eastern tiger swallowtails.

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4 July, Pop-Up Walk

The garden grows

Rewind to early May (because as I type, it is 87'F/31'C and humid). Spring was very late, but then it burst, like a dam breaking, with plants in the garden and the city blooming all at once, instead of in orderly succession. Above, my serviceberry is Amelanchier alnifolia, a species at home on the western side of the US and but also far north and all the way across through Nova Scotia. In other words, tough. It is a shrub form of serviceberry and consequently a good choice for containers.

I planted more Fritillaria persica in the fall, which was probably a mistake. Only the new bulbs came up - the previous season's made only leaves. Either they don't like the soil (5.4 pH), or it is too moist (four to five feet of annual rainfall too much for these Iranian natives?). I love them, but won't try again.

And while they did not do well in their first two springs, the camassias are at last happy. Camassia leichtlinii is native to North America. Known commonly as cama, or great cama, it was an edible (bulb) prized by Native Americans west of the Cascades, and down the coast. Pretty sure Lewis and Clark were sustained by various species in their trek.

The squirrels wreaked havoc among the tulips this year. Varmints. But they left this clump alone. I ordered the purple-black 'Queen of the Night', but this is what came up. I like them very much, so have not complained - but I should find out what they are.

Violets, spilling over retaining logs of birch. The back bed of the garden is sloped and I've done what I can to make some retentions to prevent a gradual downsliding.

And moving along into the mid month, alliums in bloom, with ever-lovely (and expanding - who would like some??) Solomon's seal.

This black iris is gorgeous, and came with the garden. I see it in other hyper-local gardens and community plots. The scent is delicious.

So, the milkweed (common milkweed, Asclepias syriaca). In the upcoming Forage, Harvest, Feast I include cultivation tips for many plants, including milkweed, which is a delicious vegetable. And I do make it clear that it's not going to stay where you put it. It began in a row in the rear of the vegetable plot. The spindly plants from Annie's Annuals resented being transplanted and looked peaky in their first year. But they came back. Strongly. I decided I wanted then to move to the wilder rear bed with fellow Americans like sunchokes, Joe-Pye weed and Veronicastrum. I dug deeply and transplanted the runners.

Did they come up there, this spring? No. They have been popping up all over the vegetable bed and have hopped under the paths, too. I have eaten tender shoots like these, and have left the ones that are growing where they will not be in the way. The buds, flowers and pods are all delightful.

The garlic rows are very happy. So is the wild arugula that always take months to establish itself.

The upland cress (Barbarea verna) made lots of flowers, which we have been eating.

Last spring's horseradish sent up flowers and I am about to dig the plants out. Nice experiment, but they grow too tall and fat for where I planted them, creating shade where I want more sun for the rows behind. The leaves are a hot and spicy bonus - like fresh wasabi (speaking of which - the wasabi is so dead) in salads and summer rolls. And of course the flowers are edible, too.

I love my red pea trellis from Gardener's Supply. It is extendable and also has another layer to add when the peas grow taller. The pop of colour is very welcome in the green sea. And it also folds nice and flat for storage.

The peas know just what to do!

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Book a Forage Walk

Spring in six blocks

Welcome to spring in our hood. It began with the callery pears (notoriously weak-crotched - they split and fall on you without provocation - but welcome, nonetheless because spring took its sweet time arriving).

It is now the time for the cherries. The earlier, more delicate cherry blossoms are almost over, and the sturdy, ultra-bred and famous 'Kanzan's are almost in peak bloom. I took these pictures today, when I escaped proofreading to run some local errands (I needed mushrooms, shallots, carrots, and pea seedlings - the starlings ate my peas!).

New York in spring is not a bad place to be.

The vivid chartreuse blossoms belong to Norway maples.

This has got to be the redbud cultivar 'Appalachian Red.' Hard to miss. (If you are interested you can find my article about how to grow redbuds on Gardenista.)

I have not seen this garden, before. Just a block away and nice use of woodland phlox.

I had to keep parking my bike to take pictures. I think this is is an apricot tree. It is gorgeous. There were primroses planted at its feet.

Back home, in a misting rain, I planted the peas in the vegetable plot. My own garden is waking up. I think it snowed in Vermont. I started a boeuf bourgignon, in sympathy. It is our last chilly night for a while - late in the week it will be downright hot.

Careful what you wish for.

The garden as antidote

The Gowanus Garden. Unofficial name. I have admired it for very many of my Brooklyn years. Nearly ten years ago Anne Raver wrote a wonderful piece about this tenacious garden on Union Street and she quoted me - I used big words: insurrection! Juxtaposition! I had been smitten by the riot of recent flowers. It was my first conversation with The New York Times. Later she wrote about our Harlem garden, and inbetween there was - notoriously - the Litter Mob article (remember the Litter Mob?) and also the flattering and lovely Cobble Hill terrace (and really the Frenchman-and-Marie) story, by Penelope Green.

The wheels turn. Some of them squeak. A lot.

Kirstin, the garden's creatrix, and I, became friends. I wrote another story about the Gowanus Garden, for Gardenista (visit the link for very nice pictures through the seasons). She and her husband David live just a few blocks from us. David is the source of unexpected and inspiring edible gifts. He'll arrive at the door with some acorn flour. Or a brace of grouse. Plucked woodcock.

Today, I began my day with a garden design - also for a neighborhood garden, and later a break in my afternoon laundry chore (the washing machines were churning and I had 25 minutes to spare), I charged to Whole Foods on my bicycle. I chose Union Street. The Gowanus Canal was misty, the tide high, and the bubbling white water spewing out anonymously at one poisoned end very sudsy, like our clothes. And just after the drawbridge, Kirstin's garden made me late. I stopped, and had a good look. Its edges were newly and neatly roped off, perennials cut back, daffodils in bloom, dianthus in bud.

The two lilacs are just thinking about opening.

The night's rain had cleaned the clever wine bottle retaining walls.

The daffodils are perhaps Mt. Hood. I must ask.

There is so much bad stuff going on; in the big world, in the world of family and friends' lives, in our own personal lives, that these small pauses in the ugliness are like a counter measure. A not-insignificant wall being held up to the evils of illness, or malice, or toxic indifference. These acts of beauty are the eloquent and botanical fuck you to the behavior or circumstances that can make life feel unbearable.

Inhale them while you can. Then pedal on.

Double trouble

The Cape dwarf chameleon couple, before today's rain.

In the garden

If you follow me on Instagram or check in on 66 Square Feet's Facebook page, you'll have suspected that I am Not in New York. It's true. I am in Cape Town, for a month. Partly because of my butcher. In Brooklyn. Who said, in the context of a broader conversation, Don't wait. He is that kind of butcher. A very nice man.

Mostly, I have been spending time with my parents, at home and in the garden, as well as working remotely, which is what the digital world is all about.

It is early summer in Cape Town, the equivalent of June in New York, so the garden is in bloom, and big fat cherries are arriving at supermarkets.

My mom would like to plant more agapanthus. The terrible agapanthus borer seems to be in abeyance, though I am not sure why. It decimated many of her plants over the last few years.

The rose is 'South Africa,' and the kale in the flower bed is still yielding a good crop.

Zinnias have just begun to flower.

In the former herb garden - now much shadier - the walls are filled with pots, and a bonsai collection resides in a corner.

The Cape dwarf chameleons are back! This is very good news. Vince found them in August after a years-long hiatus.

They are hard to spot and then, when you find them, they seem very outlandish and even more obvious. This verbascum is no longer in bloom but is left for the chameleons to climb.

A female lesser double collared sunbird (long name for a small bird) on a tired allium, but still yielding nectar to drink.

I'll post when I can, otherwise, you'll find a daily picture from this deepest south, in those other places.

Gifts for Gardeners - Bulb therapy

Sometimes, you must buy your own gifts. Because only you know when you need them.

With autumn days drawing down, I had bought bulbs, of course. More lilies, for example. And I tidied away the last of the Mexican sunflowers (above), and the leaning stalks of jewelweed and the collapsed liatris seedheads.

But with the political news as bad as it could get, I bought more bulbs. And more.

And then some more.

"Keep digging, keep digging..."

Earlier, through October and into November, I had planted a lot of garlic, thinking that it might be useful for warding off evil. It came up.  But evil triumphed. And half the country did not vote.

In time for the worst news, 25 Crocus sativus arrived - for a grand total $9.95 (I bought these from Dutch Grown). Yup, saffron crocus. They arrived already sprouting and too late to leaf and flower this fall, but these are fall-blooming crocus, with the added excitement of saffron threads (their anthers). Why plant better-known Colchicum when you can have flowers and food (my motto)?

I have no idea how much saffron I can harvest from 25 plants, but I am hoping about a teaspoonful, dried. I dream small. And then there will be a bouillabaisse party, big time.

Also in that post-election order came 10 therapeutic daffodil 'Pheasant's Eye,' cream petals with an orange heart; 5 very exciting Fritillaria persica, statuesque with a spike of small purple flowers - I have planted them in the sunniest spot (sunniest then, there is zero sun, now) where water does not collect (they need good drainage); 5 Fritillaria radeana (above) - large, sturdy white and green flowers borne in a parasol, which are said to take some shade, so these are buried along the eastern side of the garden where the tall ivy fence shades that bed until later in the day in late spring and summer. And finally, 25 Muscari 'Valerie Finnis,' a pale blue grape hyacinth which will be picked for tiny posies, indoors.

In sunnier spots in the side beds are near-black Queen of the Night as well as some white tulips, from Brent and Becky's.

On the cusp of the election I planted two tulip cultivars, 'Darwin Impression' and 'Dragon King'  in four double rows in the vegetable garden. They are in doubtful taste, like our winning candidate, and I blame his fake tan for making me think that a pink-apricot blend was a good idea. But they were on sale in bulk, from Van Bourgundien's. So they are my vegetable garden joke and will look regimented, but then everything else in the vegetable patch is already in rows. Also, tulips are edible. They will bloom above the growing garlic and will be very present when photographed from the roof. I hope.

Also from Van Bourgundien's came a clutch Lilium regale, one of my classic lily choices - tall and white, not too showy, and scented; and Lilium lankongense, a pretty pale pink turkscap.

The lankongense were not in very good shape - one moldy and unusable bulb and the others quite dry. We'll see if they recover, underground.

My main lily order comes always from The Lily Garden in Washington - the best quality bulbs I have ever seen, and consequently more expensive. From them I reinforced my 'Silk Road' presence in the garden (Silk Road is the lily in my profile picture on the blog, taken by Julianna Sohn for Martha Stewart Living; it arrived one year as a bonus bulb and I hated it before loving it).

The new lilies were all planted in-ground, even as I was removing the pot-planted lilies (above) to store in the fridge over winter. I have given up allowing them to overwinter in pots, after one snowy winter rotted them all. The cold was fine, but the pots froze solid so that melting snow on top could not drain. An artificial pond was created, and only aquatics like wet feet. The same thing killed the potted roses the following year, in Harlem.

And, long before all this in the carefree days of October, I planted Eremurus and some more alliums ('Everest'), as those were so successful, last year. The Eremurus, which look like South African rain spiders, are an experiment - these are not ideal conditions for them. Also from Brent and Becky's the sizes were uneven - I am not sure that the tiddly ones will bloom.

All my election bulbs were planted just in time for some soaking rain after a dry start to fall. And then I sprinkled a carpet of chile flakes over the tulip bulbs. I had forgotten about squirrels and tulips (I never planted tulips in my previous terrace gardens - it seemed too much of a waste of pot-space, as I needed the pots for other things). A friend, a former Brooklyn resident, who now lives in the country - where he has ramps and morels on his land - reminded me. I've also laid branches on top of the tulip bulbs, and so far, so good...touch wood. Or chiles. I will reapply every few weeks.

Next year's garden exists only in my head, and there is no knowing, now, what next year may bring. Bad things, no doubt, at home and abroad.

But there will also be flowers.

Home

After a weekend away for work, visiting other peoples' gardens (in Buffalo), it was good to come home again, and find the Formosa lilies in bloom. And we still love our umbrella.

The garden is not there, yet, but it is so much more there than it was, when I first saw this space last August.

When I am impatient, I remind myself...

And...

So, then this feels better.