Neighborhood watch

There is a small black cat that lounges often outside a house on the next block. Yesterday, when it saw me coming, it got up to come and meet me. The collar gives the kitty's address - one door down from the lounging spot - and name: Petro.

These are happy streets.

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Book a Wild Foods Walk

In the weeds

I worked front of house in restaurants for years. If you were in the weeds, you were in trouble. Like the time a man came to ask where his espresso was and I lost it, because five other people needed espresso, too, and I had to deliver checks to tables, and the owner chilling on the patio needed his pink Cosmo, and an order needed to be fired and the fucking salad that we tossed ourselves was not tossed and there was a table of people needing menus glaring at me. So I told him where to put his espresso.

It wasn't until I was two hours into weeding in our 1st Place plot yesterday, wet with August sweat, that I appreciated the trouble with weeds.

It has been a long, long time since I have had to weed, seriously.

I never want to see another morning glory. Take your quickweed and shove it. And mulberry weed is a den of mosquitoes. For the first time - ever - the vision of a quirt bottle of Round Up danced across the screen of my mind whispering, Sprayyyyyy them.

I went on weeding.

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                    Book an Autumn Walk (we'll see some weeds!)

Foraging walks - October

Hawthorn, Crataegus species

I have two foraging walks scheduled for October. Attendance is limited to 15 walkers. I am sometimes able to lead private walks, too, so if you have another park in mind for October-November,  or want to walk through your own neighborhood, get in touch using the Find/Follow link for availability and rates. 

Central Park's North Woods

3 October 2015, 12pm - 2pm

$35

Join me on an edible botanical ramble through Central Park's North Woods. We'll spot and discuss weedy edible greens, from prolific pseudo-grains like lamb's quarters, to easy-to-recognise pokeweed, burdock and Japanese knotweed.  

Chicken of the woods - Laetiporus sulphureus

We'll see greenbriar, sumac and spicebush, and talk about what to do with them. There will be fruit and nut-bearing trees, the plant that killed Mrs Lincoln, and a few others, inbetween. If we are lucky, there may be a mushroom or two. We will pause on the way to enjoy a wild-inspired snack from my backpack.  Don't panic,  it won't contain strange mushrooms. 

An edible puffball

It is migration season for the birds that use the Atlantic Flyway, and we are likely to encounter songbirds and their friends en route south, which is a nice, feathery bonus.

October in the North Woods

We meet at 12pm at the SW corner of Central Park North and Lenox Avenue. Confirmation emails will be sent to confirmed walkers the week before the walk.

WALK COMPLETE

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Aronia - chokeberry

Prospect Park

17 October 2015, 12pm - 2pm

$35

Crossing from east to west through Prospect Park's diverse midriff  we will spot a wide range of wild edible (and poisonous) plants, from lawn denizens such as plantain, dandelions and chicory to indigenous forest plants, and invasive weeds like Japanese knotweed and burdock.

Poisonous white snakeroot - Ageratina altissima

If we are lucky, we may spot a maitake mushroom. October is their month.

We meet at the park entrance at the corner of Prospect Park West and Prospect Park Southwest. The closest subways are the F and G to Prospect Park.

Confirmation emails and additional details will be sent to confirmed walkers the week before the walk.

WALK COMPLETE

Hen of the woods, Grifola frondosa

The 5 Stages of Moving

We are not quite circling the drain but at times it feels like it. Our move has coincided with the hottest and muggiest week of the weather year, with just one rainstorm for relief. Working in the weed-besieged garden - inbetween unpacking boxes and trying to create order - amidst  a swarm of daytime striped-leg mosquitoes, holds little appeal.

I know from experience that this is the stage of Resentment (it followed Disbelief, and Relief). It will give way, over time, to Inspiration. But for now we're treading water while we wait for Acceptance to rescue us.

In the meantime, we eat outside, rub ourselves down with our Thai-made mosquito wipes, meet new neighbors through fences, and spend a lot of time looking up at our wider sky.

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                           Book an Autumn Walk

Change

We left Manhattan, bound from Harlem for Brooklyn.  

This trip was repeated several times, in vehicles ranging from Zipvans to U-Haul trucks to a proper moving truck with three strong men, then a Zipcar and another Zipvan.

If there is a Medal of Honor for moving, the Frenchman gets it. 

He is Le Tired.

Not pictured: the blood, the sweat, the tears. We had all three. Smaller amounts of blood and tears balanced by copious sweat. 

Our hearts could not help singing a little, as the BQE brought us into Brooklyn.

Passing Dumbo, and its condominiumed factories.

Seeing rooftop trees against large amounts of sky. 

And Vince thought about running again near the water, and across the Brooklyn Bridge.

Brooklyn Bridge Park appeared.

And Atlantic Avenue. See, Brooklyn has trash, too (note to self).

And at last, our block, in Carroll Gardens.

The boxes and the furniture and plants have been offloaded. Unpacking has begun. Things are in limbo, as they will be for a while, before we find our domestic and horticultural feet. But we have the essentials for ground floor living: mosquito wipes, red wine, and pizza.

I will be in South Africa in a week, to see my parents. My father was diagnosed with vascular dementia, and things are changing fast. He is still himself, but he suffers from intense short term memory loss.

Vince will fly out for his annual two weeks of vacation (seriously, when will Americans wise up to the ridiculousness of this?) and for a few days we will head up the West Coast to see flowers, stars, and to be alone with the road.

And in this week that is left we will learn the language of our new home. Find domestic landmarks, carve out new patterns, mark the moon and plot our nightwalks from bedroom to kitchen, without lights.

The landscape is altered.

Limbo

10 August 2015

Just before the July 4th weekend Vince greeted me at the terrace door (bottom right of both images, if you are curious). I was on the terrace, gardening.

He looked at me. I have bad news, he said. He meant it. I was very quiet. There was some silence. Then he said, Graham is not renewing our lease. I looked at him some more. You're joking, I said. 

But he wasn't.

It was a bad time.

That seems a lifetime away. Then, it was flat out panic. But we are now six weeks out, and four days from decampment.

Everyone currently in the building is moving out.

Half our belongings are sitting in an empty apartment in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. Beyond its kitchen door a wide open, empty backyard waits for us. A quiet, tree-filled street is at the front, singing with cicadas. 

The Harlem terrace is being taken apart, piece by piece. Compare top and bottom. The wooden planters have been emptied of plants. The tall jewelweed thickets have been cut down and pulled out. The herbs have been transplanted and carted to Brooklyn. In the next few days the birch pole screen will be dismantled and the beans removed.

14 July 2015

Don't tell me that change is good. Change is just change. Don't tell me that things are meant to be. Nothing is meant to be. Things just are. Because of things that came before, because of decisions that people make. Consequences.

We will make the best of it because that is what one does. And the package of what is to come is a good package, all things considered. A beautiful neighborhood, a peaceful street, no construction in the building, no drummers. (But there is a principal ballet dancer on the top floor - does he jeté across the room in the late mornings?)

We are glad to be leaving the noise and tension of this apartment. We are glad to leave the fights on this street, the screaming motorcycle gangs, the worry about the random gunshot. I will miss the friendly neighbors on the stoops, saying, Hi, how you doing? I will miss the easy compliments and banter of the neighborhood men, who manage never to be creepy. I will miss the Tuesday night gospel choir practises and the rocking Sunday services. 

I will miss the cheap quails eggs at the supermarket on Lenox Avenue (I think they will miss me too - I bought all of them!), and the friendly wine shop staff at the new store on 125th. I will miss the proximity to Central Park's North Woods  in every season, and the Conservatory Garden, and I will miss the quick subway ride to Inwood Hill park. I will not miss the summer squallor of Marcus Garvey Park's hill, its propositioning lurkers, the flasher, the gunshots and the drugs. I will not miss the casual racism on the street. I will not miss the weekend hatemongering preachers on the corner of 125th and Lenox. I will not miss the terrible sign above the church of ATLAH.

I will miss the diversity and the effortless courtesy of doors opening, and opened. I will miss being called honey by women I do not know and I will miss the song of hm, hm, hm. 

I will miss the high ceilings and tall windows of our apartment. I will not miss hysterically high electrical heating bills and the frigid winters.

I learned to bake sourdough here, to make cheese, and to blend vermouth and fizzy wild flower ferments. I last saw my cat here.  

I will not miss the terrible stove. 

I will miss the terrace and its weather. I will miss the lady yelling at me from her apartment across the way that my barbecue smells good. I will miss the cool-season, open-window belly-laughter of the Hyena Man who watches TV on a giant screen, and I will miss the virtuoso tunes of the Whistling Man, who lives nearby.

I will miss the doves, the red house finches, the single cormorant flying east every evening. I will miss the robin's song which lulled me to sleep on noisy nights.

Knowing a place takes time. Plotting the sun, reading the light, learning the birds, recognizing the voices. I like to walk a regular path. To see a shrub in all its seasons.

I have become attached, and have always resented letting go.

Close the book.

[Curiously - predictably - there is another Limbo post: October 2013, the month we moved to Harlem.]

It begins

Today the small plants and furniture and boxes move to Brooklyn. Next week the movers will shift the big stuff.

The Alpine strawberries are ready.