Trash Forage - Prospect Park

I am organizing a different kind of walk for October 24th in Prospect Park: A Trash Forage. Instead of learning about edible plants, we will be helping the park by collecting the different kinds of trash people leave behind their sorry selves.

Please join me at 10.30am at the Wellhouse for two hours of trash grabbing-and-bagging, followed by a reward of cake. 

Tickets to reserve your spot are $25 and will be refunded to you in full after the walk, assuming you attended. 

We will be supported by the Prospect Park Alliance, the NGO whose unenviable job it is to take care of a vast public park that has seen unprecedented number of visitors during the pandemic. People have sought solace (and sometimes shelter) in the green space. At the same time the park has suffered unprecedented budget cuts by the City of New York. Even in normal times City funding of our public parks is shamefully minimal. 

"Although City parks make up 14% of NYC’s land, the Parks Department receives only 0.6% of the City’s total budget," writes Molly Fraser, on the website for the NYLCV (The New League of Conservation Voters). That is not a typo. Zero point six percent.

She continues: "Urban forests support the City’s environmental health, filtering out harmful pollutants, cooling temperatures, and supporting wildlife. In NYC, trees filter out an estimated 1,300 tons of pollutants, save nearly $94 million in health costs, capture 2 billion gallons of stormwater runoff, and store 1.2 million tons of carbon annually."

And how do you quantify the therapy, mental and physical, that the park has provided during the COVID crisis? 

The park has become everything to all people. Living room, bedroom, kitchen, work out area and yes, toilet. It needs help.

On our Trash Forage on Saturday the 24th we will meet to sign in, receive trash grabbers, bags and gloves. There will be cleaning supplies on hand but bring your own pocket sanitiser. Masks and social distancing are mandatory. 

After we have filled our bags we will clean our hands (again!) and gather for the freshly-baked cake in a nice kumbaya circle. 

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My Books

The Park

Until two weeks ago I had never seen a chipmunk off the ground. Now they are elevated. Here's one eating the seed heads of statuesque Silphium perfoliatum, reached from a handy pin oak perch in Prospect Park. 

Last week I saw a chipmunk chomping on spicebush fruit, hunting the ripe red drupes along the slender branches.  I suppose they have always done this. But suddenly I am noticing it.

I walked in the nearby park with the Frenchman, recently. He was hunting migrating hummingbirds with a new camera lens (we found them). But before we did - in a patch of jewelweed - we visited Lookout Hill, where in late summer a small, fenced-in meadow is filled with the season's rough flowers: Joe Pye-Weed, a giant persicaria, golden rod, and daisies. I see this hill several times a week, because I run up it to counteract sedentary evils. But no matter how familiar I think it has become it always shows me something new.

The tall flowers were bobbing and bending with seed-eating songbirds.

On our walk home the baseball fields were filled with masked children and parents, warming up for complicated pandemic schooling.

The park is all things to all people.  Now, more than ever. And that can get complicated. But most people are trying.

Our New York City city parks require New York City funding, and the local government has never been generous. And now the parks' budgets have been slashed. They rely on private funding.

The parks feed our souls. 

And what is that worth?

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Snowdrops in February

We had a sprinkling of snow overnight. In the dark I could see cat paw prints on the table like an expensive mosaic.

Soon after I post this, there will be a snowdrop expedition. Vince's Quixotic quest for open water pictures has been delayed. I know of a patch of the flowers in Prospect Park (above and below) and am hoping there is till snow around them. I photographed these snowdrops in 2011, in March, just about when I was becoming outraged about the litter in the woods of Prospect Park. But there have already been snowdrop sightings in the city: reports from Strawberry Fields in Central Park, from Kensington and from Prospect Heights, both in Brooklyn...

I returned to the woods a couple of weeks ago, and it is as though we had never been there, cleaning for a year. The litter is back, the condoms are back, the men patrolling for sex are back. This part of the park is freshly abandoned, cut loose. The storms of last year have also destroyed many more trees in the woods. Several tall specimens in a cluster were missing their crowns; their trunks, ending abruptly in mid air, at about 30 feet, were spiraled and frayed as though a giant hand had come down and twisted them off.

In happier news, I was alerted to the presence of Meyer lemons at Trader Joe's. So last night I took a big breath, held my nose and plunged into the Saturday shopping crowd in the emporium that still makes me want to hyperventilate. Utter chaos.  Shoppers three deep in the aisles, nobody moving, everybody oblivious to traffic flow. How do they drive? I know. I'm a grump. I can't bear bear stagnation and I like to move fast, or at less with awareness. Chinatown is hard that way too. But when I got the line, at Trader Joe's, anyway, it moved very fast. Relief.

I now have many little sacks of the thin-skinned very perfumed Meyer lemons, two tall cylinders of Baleine coarse salt and will preserve one jarful of the lemons and make limoncello with the rest. Thank you, Clare Hambly, for the inspiration - she is a fellow South African whom I met for a drink yesterday evening, and she told me about the lemons and was talking preserved-in-salt.

That's all it takes, really.

Fall in Brooklyn and what price, a park?

An afternoon stroll down Atlantic Avenue towards the water of the harbor took us to the Brooklyn Bridge Park, starting at Pier Six, and heading north. Amelanchiers are bleeding into orange, above.

My friends, the birds. These are siskins, utterly unafraid. Loading up on the fluffy seeds of...grassleafed goldenrod? Euthamia graminifolia? I think.

Sumac turning brilliant.

And Virginia creeper, up on the Promenade.

We have been excited to see the pedestals for a pedestrian footbridge take shape, to carry people up from the water-level park to the elevated Promenade. I can't count the number of perplexed tourists to whom we have given convoluted directions, when they ask how to get "up there."

Suddenly some steep berms had materialised, flanking the steps leading to the beginning of the unfinished bridge-supports. Crosshatched with irrigation lines and complete with quart pots of interesting-looking perennials. I hope there will not be a downpour within the next few months, to wash it all away.

Someone has a lot of planting to do. Tricky. Where to stand?

I have seen this park materialize from nothing - concrete wharfs, barren jetties, wasted waterfront. Most of the funding is private and I still have very mixed and conflicting feelings about this. Certainly, without private investment, this would not have happened.

And today, the Central Park Conservancy, also relying on private funds (yet it is the heart of Manhattan but not apparently, the city's responsibility) received a gift of $100,000,000 (count the noughts), from John Paulson, who has fond memories of being pushed through it in a stroller, as baby. Lucky Central Park. And thank you, Mr. Paulson.

I could not help wincing on behalf of Prospect Park, designed by the same, famous Olmstead/Vaux duo. Prospect Park, unlike its Manhattan yin,  has far poorer neighbours, and just one wealthy border, in the west. Prospect Park is Brooklyn's green heart and still resembles a ragged war zone on its eastern edges. The western part looks just fine. Funny, that. It needs money. The City sure as hell doesn't give a damn.

Perhaps Mr Paulson forgot about the spare $50,000,000 in his sock drawer.

Pretty please?

Demobbed

The last Mob. Photo: Caitlin Nolan, editor of The Ditmas Park Patch

The Last Litter Mob took place yesterday in Prospect Park. You can read my post about it at Litter Mob Blog. And Frank posted his thoughts on Leaving the Woods, too.

Vince often asked me, How long are you going to keep doing this? He had been there for the first few mobs last year, in sticky, humid May. He hated it. He hated the used condoms, the human excreta, he hated the bottles and trash. He hated that the park was not looked after by the people paid to do it. He had no patience with the whole business. But he supported me, because he knew how I felt about it. He was worried about me, about scratches on my hands, the shit on my boots and possible contact with human bodily fluids. I told him that if I saw no obvious change in attitude from the decision-making stewards of the park after a year, I would quit.

He is ecstatic that it is over. I think he skipped around a little.

It may only have been three hours every other week, plus travel, but it was more in terms of coordinating volunteers (a sterling but tiny handful showed up regularly, but my mailing list is dozens and dozens long), as well editing images, writing about it and staying touch with media who contacted me, and the media to whom I reached out to advertise our activities. It could easily have become a fulltime, and fulfilling, job.

But I reached that year mark, and I kept my promise.

And now I must focus on my own work. Gardening and writing and taking pictures and cooking: Next fall my first book will be published by Stewart, Tabori and Chang. It's very exciting. And they need my manuscript and pictures long, long before...And yes, it will called 66 Square Feet. Big smile.

The woods will still be there.

The Litter Mob. Quo vadis?

The Litter Mob met last Tuesday. Here is what I thought of it. It ain't over yet but it's pretty darn close.

Above? Well. You need a certain sort of DNA to do this kind of thing regularly. They have it. Franck and Inge.

After the mob

A morning in the woods of Prospect Park. Pretty from far.

Pretty even from up close.

Not too much has changed, though. We filled the usual bags with the usual stuff. Pulled up compacted paths and put up fences. 

After visiting the Brooklyn Botanic Garden across the road (check back for the crocus post, tomorrow), and fleeing the cafeteria - and my dreams of a bowl of chile - because it was overflowing with strollers and their occupants, I headed stoicly right back across the park and down into Park Slope, to Al di la. A small, private treat.

I feel self conscious eating alone, but I also enjoy it. With no conversation to remove your gaze from the plate, every morsel is considered. A white salad of rutabaga, celeriac, turnip (I think), Jerusalem artichoke and fennel. And then a plate of cavatelli with greens and some hot pepper, lots of lemon zest and creamy cheese. It was wonderful.  A glass of Verdicchio. A book about soil conditioning for inbetween courses. Many other tables were people also eating on their own. The man beside me with a Hemingway moustache.  


And the chile I could not eat at lunch is now simmering on the stove. Beef, beans, carrots and celery, additions of tomato jam, vinegar, cinnamon and coffee. Dough is rising, for small rolls hot from the oven. I am bone tired. And look forward to soft, cool sheets and bed.

Shepherd's warning

It is Every Second Tuesday. Which means hi ho, hi ho, to Litter Mob I go.

I can't honestly say that I have missed gathering up condoms and trash in Prospect Park, but I am curious to see the woods after an eight week absence, and to say hello again to the other stalwarts, who kept the mob going in mid winter while I was away...They rock. In May, it will be one year of Litter Mobbing. And then I will reassess. I would love permanent change to take root in the woods. A wildflower trail. Serious trash cans. But for that I need more support from the stewards of the park. One year of picking up layers of trash has cleaned the woods, but if we disappear, and park policy does not change, the trash will come back, and most people will continue to avoid the beautiful forest.

Here's a look back at out first Litter Mob in Prospect Park.

Litter Mob in winter

The results and observations of yesterday's Mob are in, at The Prospect Park Litter Mob blog. 

Litter Mob, tomorrow

Litter Mob time - tomorrow, the woods, 9am. Sign up, tune in, smell the crackling forest air.

Thank you, Google maps.

Directions.

Snakeroot and green beans

Turkey tails - Trametes versicolor, in the woods of Prospect Park

Some new Litter Mob stories:

White snake root, why your cow should not eat it and what happened to Mrs Lincoln, Sr.
The mystery of the green bean casseroles.

Litter Mobbing in the rain

Our morning's Litter Mob (the 15th to date) has already yielded two posts next door. You may choose between:

Mushrooms

and

The White Edition

I must go. The grindstone is calling.

Home again

We are back in the hood, and I'll update the blog, soon. We returned late last night to a spotless apartment, a sleek cat and some very good wine. So we sat down at once, at 11pm,  and drank some. Thank you, John!

But for now, I hear the siren call of the woods in Prospect Park, must pull on my rainboots, pack my camera and head in short sleeves into the unseasonably warm day. Very strange weather... I was sent some interesting pictures of a tree in the woods yesterday by someone who works there, and will report on it if it is still intact.

And if you have nothing better to do, or are avoiding a deadline, there's nothing like a little de-littering to get you motivated. Find us in the woods.

Mob 14

The Audubon Center on the Lullwater.

Above, the Midwood, where the Litter Mob works.

Osage oranges.

The mosaic of our other finds is at the Prospect Park Litter Mob blog...

And we are having sugar maple tapping thoughts.

Hm. Anyone ever tried?

Occupy what???

My thoughts on why the Occupy Wall Street movement should move to the woods in Prospect Park, are up at that other blog.

To the Woods!

Also there, the drinking habits of the habituees of the woodland, observed only via the detritus left behind logs and amongst the leaf litter.

Hidden in plain sight

Where is this?

It's in the city, I'll say that much.

Yup, New York City...

And on the subject of green (red and yellow) spaces in the metropolis, it is Prospect Park Litter Mob time again. This Tuesday, 9am, corner of East and Center Drives in Prospect Park - whose woods should be stunning. We will de-litter for a little over an hour, and then do some woodland restoration -I'm not sure what it will be, yet. 

Here are directions - and please let me know if you are able to help.

Update:

Back to the Mystery Place: Dinah - you are right. High Rock Park, Staten Island. To see the full, spectacular autumn in this park, visit the Frenchies' beautiful blog post about it.

Prospect Park's Swans

You may read all about our thirteenth Litter Mob at the Prospect Park Litter Mob blog. The weather was gorgeous. The condoms were few on the ground.

I was 20 minutes early for the Mob and sidetracked down to the Lullwater to see what I could see. And there I communed with some swans. Which may seem difficult, because they are mute swans. But I have my silent moments, too.  Perhaps my best ones are unvoiced.

Cygnus olor may be very beautiful, but mute swans are an invasive species whose environmental impact is being studied in New York State. Some local residents feed these swans and get very hot under the collar about the swans' internal politics.

I saw five swans, two white parents, and three giant, grey ex-cygnets, tailed by a host of mallard ducks. They diverted towards me when they saw me heading for the water's edge, perhaps expecting a snack. When they realized that the human held nothing but a camera they settled matter of factly in the shallows beside me and started to groom.  The whole family arched it collective neck and started to ruffle its chest feathers with orange and grey beaks.

I had last seen a swan family here in June, below. I'm not sure if they are the same birds.

I have never been this close to such big birds. I take swans for granted, as a distant piece of prettiness. Up close they felt powerful. I was surprised by how good it felt to be beside them. I expect these birds to be aggressive (I was chased by one in England when I was little), but they were very calm and tolerant. Quite beautiful.