Reverse

Leaning out and extending an arm I can take a side view picture of the bean screen.  The gloriosa lilies (Gloriosa superbum) planted in late spring at the base of the birch poles rocketed straight up and over the top, and have been in bloom for three long weeks. They are natural ramblers, indigenous to the understoreys of the southeastern coast of South Africa and parts farther north.

Above: this was how it looked in May, with emerging seedlings and shoots hidden under pots from the digging squirrel.

In previous years I lost the long gloriosa tubers to the rot caused by the freeze-thaw cycle. So late last fall I dug them up and they overwintered with some forbidden peatmoss in unzipped ziplock bags in our cold (c-c-c-c-cold) bedroom, near a leaky window (extra c-c-c-cold). (The real lilies - Lilium formosanum, and 'Silk Road' overwintered in the crisper drawer in the fridge.)

The gloriosas must be unearthed soon, in their prime, for our move. I will have to repot them in something portable, and very awkwardly, given their size. They need to keep growing for the leaves to feed the tubers for next season's performance. The frustrating thing is that they will be making new tubers, too, and I think the upheaval will mean that all this activity turns to toast.

The beans are doomed. Unplanting and saving them for a yet-to-be-found garden space would be Sisyphean. They were planted in May:

The scarlet runners have made flowers but no beans yet, and the lablabs we will not see. But we have enjoyed several crops of the purple pole beans ('Trionfo Violetto,' from Botanical Interests). And I am leaving some very fat pods to save seeds for a future I can't imagine, from where I sit right now.

Below,  a quick-pickled beet Caprese with buffalo mozzarella, Persian cucumbers and straight-up pole beans.

Our upstairs neighbor, Wolfgang, will take pictures of the terrace with us on it next week, and I will ask for another one when it is empty. The contrast will be interesting. He works in black and white only, which is how I feel.  He too, has not had his lease renewed.  It has been good to share space with him. My sourdough baking was inspired by feeding his starter while he traveled, and we have lapped up a few bottles of his own olive oil, pressed in Italy from his own olive trees (they are sick, this year, and their future, too, is uncertain).

So that's the bean screen scene.

No tigers in the rain

At least the plants have no idea what's coming. They liked the sudden rain.

I am not a tropical plant person. Does anyone know what these are? They have been living indoors but I put them out for the shower.

[Thank you, Kath (comments): Maranta leuconeura, prayer plant - and they do hold their leaves upright at night. From Brazil.]

To move a garden

This morning's crops. The nasturtiums have just begun to bloom - they are growing in the built-in wooden planters, with the beans. Neither will make the move with us. The three Alpine strawberry plants are in pots, and are portable. Two came up from self-sown seed, and one survived the last, hard winter.

Soon, I must cut down the three beans (scarlet runner, lablab and purple pole - about 10 plants), planted in May, so that I can take down the birch pole screen. The lablabs have not begun to bloom yet - their peak is from late August.

This snail vine, grown from seed my mom sent from her vine, was growing in the wooden planters but I transplanted it and its friends as soon as I heard we had lost our lease. No snail vine left behind.

The gloriosa lilies will have to be unplanted very carefully. Their tubers are about 10" long and breakable, and they are at their peak of bloom. Not a good time to disturb them.

The annual jewelweed (Impatiens capensis), which has just begun to flower, and planted to attract hummingbirds, as it did last year, will not move with us. I will cut it down, soon. It is very tall now - 4', and will move poorly: the pots are very big, so I may empty the soil for easier carrying.

The lilies that share space with the jewelweed will have to be planted temporarily in smaller pots, so that their leaves can continue to feed the bulbs for next year.

The cardinal vines grown from seed will only bloom in late September and I'd like to bring one or two, so I managed to untrain them and this Roguchi clematis from their wire screen over the skylight and re-train them onto a bamboo teepee in a pot. The cardinal vines were also planted for hummingbirds (maybe we should leave a forwarding GPS coordinate for them?).

News will come in sporadic bursts. I am not brimming over with warm, fuzzy feelings.

In flux

Best friends invited themselves for dinner. Since it will perhaps be the last friends' supper on our Harlem terrace I asked our Lovely Upstairs Neighbor and The Diplomat's Son to join us. We ate knotweed and field garlic flower pickles, ginger ale ham and herby poatoes, drank Champagne, exchanged war stories and caught the unmistakeable odor of dead rat inbetween gusts of lily perfume. It seemed appropriate.

This morning I picked a handful of Alpine strawberries. They were my breakfast.

Then I gathered some Trionfo Violetto beans from the beanscreen, and began making a bamboo teepee for some climbers currently attached to the railings around the skylight. I snipped the cardinal vine clear and detached the Roguchi clematis, unplanting their room-mate rose in the process and giving it a new pot. Now, hopefully, the climbers can move with us. If we move to a space with sun. We just don't know, yet.

__________________________

   Book a Botanical Summer Walk

How it is

With a move and uncertainty in our near future, I have no garden captions to provide. I flip between optimism and panic several times a day. Nights are worse. In the evenings the Frenchman and I eat out here and I try not to talk about the garden. He works under such pressure daily that this unexpected move is actually worse for him. But we laugh sometimes, and often we hear Don Estorbo's boice joining the conbersation, from either heaven or hell, depending on where they have sent him that day (he spends a lot of time in the elevator).

Yes. It helps to be a little bit mad.

Last night we watched fire flies, and laughed every time one lit up.

The purple beans are working hard.

We'll have friends over for supper tomorrow, probably for the last time. 

And I'll be at beautiful Wave Hill at 1pm on Satuday, talking about Northeastern flavors and books. There will be a herb walk and a book signing. I hope to bring along some wild botanical cordials - if you drink them up there will be fewer to carry when we move!

Apartment needed

A June supper

[Update: Apartment found!]

By now I have flower-bombed social media with this message and finally it comes to rest here:

SOS. Help needed:

The Frenchman and I have just learned that our landlord is not renewing the lease on our Harlem apartment. It expires at the end of August. He says he will be doing renovations in our apartment which will also involve ripping up part of the terrace.

While this apartment and location have come with problems, there are many things we like a lot (space, tall ceilings, terrace), and I am still stunned. We made it a home. The garden is looking very beautiful right now, lush, healthy and happy. I love sitting out there, and the thought of destroying it all at its peak is numbing.

To add to the bad timing,  I had just  booked a late-August, early-September trip to South Africa - to see my not-very-well parents, in their 80's. We had been planning this for a while. The Frenchman's ticket was to have been bought today. He needs a vacation. not a move. I have just booked and paid for a visit to the wonderful spring flowers on the West Coast of the country. That trip is probably toast.

Young sparrow

So. Dear New York City Universe, with matter-of-fact New York directness:

We are looking for a 1 bedroom apartment with a garden or terrace or roof deck (private outdoor space is essential), rent in the realm of $2,700 or less (we pay less currently, which might be a Harlem thing). To move in by, or before, September 1st. We are pretty open to neighborhoods, and know our rent will probably prescribe the hood. As tenants we are quiet, considerate, and leave the place better than we found it.

The jewelweed forest

If you know of a place or someone who might know, please get in touch using the Find/Follow tab, top right.

The tame mourning dove (the bravest of of six)

Hey. We may even move back to Brooklyn!

And then, after this, we will never rent again.

Formosa = beautiful

...or perhaps voluptuous.

The Formosa lilies are opening. Lilium formosanum, named after the island to which they are native, now Taiwan, then Formosa.

They are lilies in pure form. No spots and stripes, no flaring, no frills. Their scent is delicious and not cloying.

They have some competition from the jewelweed.

Their scent is more pronounced at night.

And good news! The 'Roguchi' clematis (below, with the leaves of a cardinal vine) is in bloom, a rare survivor of last winter. I was incensed the other morning when I found some perfect buds on the terrace floor, the stems neatly snipped. I blame the blue jays. There is four-bird family that visits the terrace - which is nice. But the teenagers are halfwits who will peck at anything that looks juicy. Perhaps they mistook it for  a blueberry. I see that two Silk Road lily buds bear beak marks, too.

It is July. The evenings are bringing rocket fire to the sidewalk, which last night had me diving for cover before I realized it was rocket fire. A little too reminiscent of the sidewalk gunshot two weeks ago. Apparently I've been away for the two previous 4th of July's so the local celebrations are new to me.

We will probably spend that day out at Dead Horse Bay (I'm leading a walk there on August 15th, at low glass-gathering tide). It's been a while. And I have promised myself that I'd bake biscuits, and maybe make a ham. The local stoop sitters might like both.

In other news, I will be giving a talk about local flavors and green spaces at Wave Hill on July 11th, at 1pm, and signing copies of 66 Square Feet- A Delicious Life. It would be nice to see you there.

____________________________

                        Book a Botanical Summer Walk