The fleet

What, me? Eccentric?

You do what you have to do to get through the day. If Garbo could have little troll dolls under her sofa, I can have a fleet of yellow cabs on my kitchen island.

They were bought as gifts, but now I want to keep them.

We can have races. We already have cliff-jumping dares.

Red currant gin

Beautiful pink gin, destined for Kaia Wine Bar, in return for the crate of red currants gifted to me in the summer. The result is fruity, in a red way, but not sweet at all. I'll be making chutney with the very ginny fruit that is left behind.

Hawthorn in Harlem

I have never seen hawthorn planted as street trees, before (as medium-sized trees they are perfect targets for tall trucks, which clip them as they drive by).

They line Lenox Avenue and are heavy with fruit, right now.

The bean counter

I was surprised by the pinkness of the scarlet runner beans, popped from their green pods. I saved the pods when I pulled the vines down from the birch pole screen, because I'd like to grow some more, next year. With the purple pole beans and lablabs, they formed a perfectly leafy privacy curtain, during the months when we sat outside to eat dinner.  

They were also the last to bloom in the summer, I discovered, but they fulfilled their hummingbird promise. That Harlem hummer did stop to feed from them.

The small beans in the foreground came from the same pods, but I discarded those, and kept the giant ones for next year's crop (some will be gardeners' gifts, too).

I also shelled some lablabs, fresh (top left, green), as well as ones that had dried on the vines (small black ones with the dramatic white stripe); but most had not had time to to set good, fat seed yet.

The purple pole beans are the blah beige seeds, far right on a plate.

Funny, for a pretty, purple bean.

Plum gin

We broached the plum gin, and the Frenchman is in love (he dislikes my more herbal infusions). A chance purchase has revealed a really good combination: I noticed some over-ripe prunes being sold at our local one-stand farmers market (Lenox Avenue at West 117th Street, every Saturday) a few weeks ago. I bought a bunch, removed their stones, and dropped them into a jar of Gordon's. Three weeks later the result is startlingly good.

Change

While pulling and cutting the beans - purple pole beans, lablab and scarlet runner - and cardinal vine from the birch pole screen yesterday afternoon I collected some pods, to see what seeds I might be able to save, for next year. I could hear the New York City Marathon, at the end of the block. It took just fifteen minutes to undo what took several months to grow. It was cold and my fingers burned.

On their teepees the Malabar spinach vines had collapsed overnight, so those came out, too. I have purple finger tips, from picking their seedfruit from their juicy stems.  The jewelweed and basil plants looked blasted, the tall asters had fallen over. Out, out, out.

The allegedly heat-loving nasturtiums and Cape gooseberries are still fine, and the cilantro is thriving.

I'll wait a while before I lift the lilies. Their leaves are still bright green, and feeding the bulbs.

Late next week I will be in another season, another hemisphere, another garden. As usual, that seems implausible. I am just getting used to our early-darkness twinkly lights. But I'll be back before Christmas, and I think I'll need them, then.

Boule weather

My boule moves are back. This was a good one.

And with coffee? Even better.

On the terrace the little juncos* have returned. The bean leaves are yellowing on the birch screen. The house is dark at 2pm.

Yes, it has arrived.

*Not junkies. We had some of those a few weeks ago, half passed out on the stoop steps but still managing to sell something to people who passed by. Pot, I imagine. Very low level and disorganized. I called the cops to move them on - there were five, and I did not want to deal with them myself. Did the cops arrive? No. "Do you see any weapons?" I was asked on the phone...Uh, no, I said. 

Maybe next time I'll just take out some sandwiches. Make friends.