Hurricane Irene. New York's Santa Ana?

My blog entry for today is being published much later in the day than usual; and for that, I sincerely apologize — especially because I do not appreciate it when I take the time to go to a blog where a scheduled posting has been promised —  only to find older entries and not the "promised"  post of the given day, one which I had been (in most cases) looking forward to reading. I find a blogger not posting during a committed schedule — unless vacation or hiatus plans have been announced — to be somewhat disrespectful of any readers or followers; and therefore, I do not want to make delayed postings a habit.

Some might say I am being somewhat narcissistic, because the world is not pausing, waiting for my new posting so that they can read my blog; nor is it pausing to learn of my follow-ups to any prior blog entries. I just believe it is courteous to keep your word (which, for me, in this case is sticking to a posting schedule that I laid out in January of 2011, which you may refer to by clicking here) to your valued readerships and followers, a community I truly am grateful to have. So without further ado, here's my post for today, August 27th, 2011.

The photograph posted directly below these next paragraphs relates to what had been my intended topic for today — a gardener's journey towards elegant lighting — and it is a blog entry I have been working on since this past Thursday, August 25th.

The scene depicted in this beautiful photograph may look familiar to you if you have been following my blog. It is an aerial view of my terrace garden taken by Juan V. Prior photographs of aerial views (all taken by Juan V) of my urban terrace garden have been presented on this blog dating back to April 16th 2011, when he and I first began documenting this season's terrace garden in aerial format. If you'd like to refer to these images, there is one associated with the aforementioned date and you can find the rest throughout my blog by clicking here and here, as well as here and here, and also here and here.)

As you can see from this image, there has been a prominent but elegant change to my terrace garden — an addition of "overhead" string lights. These were a birthday gift from a friend and were ultimately installed by Juan V (with the help of his colleague) in honor of my birthday this past Wednesday, August the 24th. (You may recall, dear reader, that in a prior entry I made a wish for my birthday to be — in terms of my garden — more accepting of any garden mushrooms.  At that time I did not realize that on my birthday I would not only be "rewarded"  with those mushrooms receding into the soil of my affected shrubs and plants, but that lovely string lights would be installed by Juan V. You may also recall that, over a year ago, Juan V did another installation in my garden. To refer to Juan V's first installation in my garden, please click here.)

In any event, initially, when planing for today's blog entry, I wanted to include the August 24th string light installation as a blog topic, because, if you are a gardener like myself, and you enjoy having outdoor lights, but don't like the cords interfering with the esthetic of your landscape, you may glean from what I have had installed in my garden. Even with summer coming to a close, it is still not too late to install string lights in your garden, as there are plenty of beautiful days to enjoy a garden in what remains of the summer, and well into the fall.


The story I had wanted to share in today's blog entry is about my journey in procuring this type of lighting, and it is something that I truly think would be appreciated by anyone coming to terms with how they have evolved esthetically. However, an event, that is impacting New York City and its surrounding areas, as well as much of the eastern coast of the United States, has caused me to decide to leave the insight brought on by the string lighting installation in my terrace garden for next weekend's post. 


The event that has preempted the intended content of today's posting is the preparing for Irene, a hurricane, which, according to all reports, will be barreling down on the area where I live late this evening, throughout the night and all of tomorrow.


The photograph by Juan V still relates to today's post but in a far different way than I had planned. The elegant and tranquil — yet joyful spirit — of my garden shown in the aerial photograph of the garden with the string light installation has been replaced with a spirit of anticipation and some anxiety over the prediction of possible severe wind damage which could be a result of Hurricane Irene; therefore, I have done what I can do to protect my garden (hence the delay in today's posting).


For example, in my garden, I have an antique fireplace fixture which normally "houses" the planters that contain my Lavandula angustifolia (English Lavender) and my Lavandula dentata (French Lavender) as seen in the photograph (where my Echinacea insisted on being a part of the image) directly below.

This unique fireplace-fixture-turned-garden-ambiance-setter has been in my garden for years. Early this past summer, it was moved from the west side of my garden to the north portion of my garden (where an old fashioned sign had been for many years as discussed in a blog entry that you can find by clicking here) and it is very securely hooked over the railing which goes around my terrace. Not wanting to take chances, in light of Irene's intended wrath, I have moved it to the "floor" of my terrace as indicated by the yellow arrows superimposed over the photograph below.

Additionally, I brought the plant stand for my Tropaelum majus (Nasturtium), the stand for my Rubus calycinoides (Ornamental Raspberry), my outdoor chairs, and my marble table top inside my studio apartment, leaving only the table's heavy pedestal (lying on its side  atop the "floor" of the garden) outside (indicated by the purple arrow in the image posted above). 


I have moved my 'Tamukeyama' (Japanese Red Maple) along with my beloved Blue Shag pine towards the door that leads from my garden into my studio apartment, hoping that by their being close to the wall, they will be protected from any objects which might fall as a result of wind damage brought on by Hurricane Irene. However, my Japanese Larch (Larix Kaempferi), my  Rubus calycinoides (Ornamental Raspberry), my Acer shirasawanum (Autumn Moon), and my Vaccinium macrocarpon (Cranberry Vine) moved inside. It was not an easy decision as to what herbs, plants, flowers, shrubs and trees to bring inside because I did not, and do not, want them to go through any shock being brought inside, especially after they have thrived so well this season. All of my efforts to have my garden hurricane-ready were prompted by the following email that I received late last night from Juan V:

"I just thought I'd send a quick reminder to bring in or secure any light weight loose items that you may still have out on your respective terraces &/or gardens.  With the possible severity of the impending storm these items could easily become projectiles.  It's much easier to replace a fallen/cracked pot than a folding chair through a living room window.  Also, it would be wise to remove any pots &/or decor from walls, stands, etc.  A good rule of thumb may be if a single person can lift and move it then a 100 mph. gust can. 

I know that in the city we are already limited in the interior space that we have, so in regards to large pots & furniture use one's own best judgement.  If possible slide these items to a less exposed area in your garden or up against a wall.

Hopefully we'll look back at this email as only another silly reminder of the storm that never was, but with a hurricane of this potential magnitude it's best to do what we can to keep our families, friends & pets safe.  Thank you for your time and I hope to speak with you very soon."

Having heeded Juan V's advice, my garden is as braced as it can be for Irene, and as for New York City itself, as of noon today, The New York Transit system (aka The M.T.A.), whose slogan is "The M.T.A. — going your way" , stopped going our way, by noon, having already shut down all subway and bus transportation, as per their announcement which you may read by clicking here. Area railroad companies followed this action by shutting down train transportation and all the airports are closed.


Yesterday folks were clamoring to buy what was left of any batteries that were available —  in the event of a what could easily occur as the result of any hurricane devastation, and that is a power outage. Other folks were crowding the liquor stores as well as the speciality boutiques that sold coffee, making sure to purchase items in order to have "other types of batteries" on hand. There did not seem to be a general sense of panic in New York City, even though, when it comes to impending weather conditions, people can exhibit strange behavior. 

For example, in relation to the onset of Santa Ana's (hot winds which occur in the Los Angeles area), uneasiness and tension prevails. Joan Didion, a writer that I have referred to in a number of my blog entries (including ones you may refer to by clicking here as well as here and here), has this to say (in her essay, Los Angeles Notebook): "There is something uneasy in the Los Angeles air this afternoon, some unnatural stillness, some tension. What it means is that tonight, a Santa Ana will begin to blow, a hot wind from the northeast whining down through the Cajon and San Gorgonio Passes, blowing up sandstorms along Route 66, drying the hills and the nerves to flash point. For a few days now we will see smoke back in the canyons, and hear sirens in the night. I have neither heard nor read that a Santa Ana is due, but I know it, and almost everyone I have seen today knows it too. We know it because we feel it. The baby frets. The maid sulks. I rekindle a waning argument with the telephone company, then cut my losses and lie down, given over to whatever it is in the air. To live with a Santa Ana is to accept, consciously or unconsciously, a deeply mechanistic view of human behavior." 

Didion's observation of living with a Santa Ana as accepting "consciously or unconsciously, a deeply mechanistic view of human behavior" is interesting to me as I prepare for the hurricane, making sure that the garden I tend to is secured to the best of my ability. As  I was doing this prep work, the folks in the buildings  that surround my terrace garden were outside: tying down objects and trees that are on terraces which "tower" over my garden. This was somewhat of a consolation to me, and hopefully to the herbs, vines, flowers, plants, shrubs and trees which I grow in my garden, as they would be most affected by any negligence on my neighbor's part.

I noticed a Japanese woman (on a lower floor of the building directly north of me) doing "traditional" hurricane damage control, putting large "X' s made from tape, on each window. As she was doing this, she yelled, at the top of her voice in a conversation she was having on her cell-phone (for all the "hood" to hear) which, I confess, prompted me to yell across the courtyard to her imploring her to lower her voice. I'd like to use the excuse that my yelling out across the courtyard was weather related, but it's likely that my cranky nature had set in, given my aversion to the way folks use cell phones. However, weather related outbursts have been the subject of literature. Even the author Raymond Chandler, cited in Didion's, Los Angeles Notebook, concedes that outbursts can be weather related, Didion includes this Chandler quote in her essay stating: "'On nights like that', Raymond Chandler once wrote about the Santa Ana, 'every booze party ends in a fight. Meek little wives feel the edge of the carving knife and study their husband's necks; anything can happen." 


Thankfully, I am not the type to feel the edge of a knife while expressing my disgust at cell-phone users insensitivity! Instead, I allowed my court-yard neighbor's "X" markings to prompt me to put some tape on the windows of my door as seen in the photographs posted respectively below:

However, I still certainly wish there were protection regarding cell-phone behavior, and my "friend" Dagwood seems be in agreement with me as indicated in the comic strip below:

I cannot blame my temperament regarding cell phones on Irene, but I think it could be more exasperated by it, for another point Didion brings out in Los Angeles Notebook (the aforementioned essay) in relation to weather conditions  and human behavior is ". . . it turns out to be another one of those cases in which science bears out folk wisdom. The Santa Ana, which is named for one of the canyons it rushes through, is a foehn wind, like the foehn of Austria and Switzerland and the hamsin of Israel. There are a number of persistent and malevolent winds, perhaps the best known of which are the mistral of France and the Mediterranean sirocco, but a foehn wind has distinct characteristics: it occurs on the leeward slope of a mountain range and, although the air begins as a cool mass, it is warmed as it comes down the mountain and appears finally as a hot dry wind. Whenever and wherever a foehn blow, doctors hear about headaches and nausea and allergies, about 'nervousness' about 'depression'. In Los Angeles some teachers do not attempt to conduct formal classes during Santa Ana, because the children become unmanageable. In Switzerland the suicide rate goes up during a fohen, and in the courts of some Swiss cantons the wind is considered a mitigating circumstance for a crime."

Didion's conclusion on this matter is, "Los Angeles weather is the weather of catastrophe, of apocalypse, and, just as the reliably long and bitter winters of New England determine the way life is lived there, so the violence and the unpredictability of Santa Ana affect the entire quality of life in Los Angeles, accentuate its impermanence, its unreliability.The wind shows us how close to the edge we are."

And so perhaps, the winds of Irene, like the Santa Anas in Los Angeles,  will remind me and my "comrade" New Yorkers, just how close to the edge we are, and that in knowing this, we can come together, not just in our preps for an impending hurricane, be it garden prep or otherwise. I don't mean to sound haughty here or preachy but it is in weather conditions like the one that is upon is in New York that one realizes how fleeting possessions and life itself can be.

With that dear reader, I hope if you live in any area affected by Irene that you are prepared, at minimum with your evening vino, and your morning coffee. I don't mean to sound cavalier about Irene or the preparation for it; with this parting thought, because I am well aware that there is a great likelihood of falling trees from what I hear, which will cause damage, and I acknowledge that there must certainly be lot of anxiety for those who were ordered to evacuate. I sincerely wish everyone a safe weekend, and I look forward to hearing about your hurricane experiences, and to sharing my intended post topic (a gardener's journey towards elegant lighting) with hopefully little damage to report.

Friday Follow-Up

The radio announcer says it's 108 degrees at Newark Airport and 104 degrees in Central Park (which is less than a block from where I live and have a terrace garden in New York City) this afternoon, and since the thermometer in my terrace garden only registers 101 degrees, I am extremely thankful to report that the things that I grow in my terrace garden including herbs, plants, flowers, vines, shrubs, and trees — over sixty in total — are faring well with my hand watering (an activity that I have discussed in blog postings, including ones which you may refer to by clicking here and here). 




Today I am mainly following up on the planting of my "newcomer vine", the Cardinal Climber (Ipomea sloteri), as I promised I would in yesterday's blog entry.




Juan V and I did our work fairly early in the morning in an effort to beat the heat, however, we were not finished until a little before 9:00 A.M. An overview of what my terrace garden looked like after the work was finished can be seen in an aerial photograph which Juan V took for me and that I have posted below.

If you zoom in on the photograph, or squint enough, you will be able to see two of the three clay pots (below the bamboo trellis) that are now filled with the Cardinal Climber, the third is off camera (and has its own trellis) but is indeed standing in the most southwest corner of my terrace garden.

The Cardinal Climber, as I said yesterday, has done well in my garden in the past, so I have reason to believe that it will flourish once again, and therefore it will surely provide me with the much-needed privacy that I need from the gawking tourist-neighbors, a situation that I wrote about in a previous post, Love thy Neighbor, but, Don't Pull Down Your Hedge, which you may refer to by clicking here.




In any event, to avoid your zooming and squinting, dear reader, I have posted some photographs from it below, as it looked after yesterdays garden tending.

Above: The "Main Part" of the Trellis with pots filled with Cardinal Climber eager to hop on it and form my urban hedge.

Above: The normally camera-shy (It's off camera in aerial views.) portion of my trellis with a "lone" clay pot filled with Cardinal Climber.

Above: Cardinal Climber's leaves mug for the camera. They know they are just as awesome as the brilliant, red flowers that the vine will ultimately produce.

Above: My Cardinal Climbers  are already hopping on the orange rail which surrounds my terrace garden as well as the trellis, as if they were children on monkey-bars.




It looks as if my Cardinal Climber doesn't mind the heat, but then again, how hot is it? Well.... it's so hot, that yours truly, actually turned down a glass of Quincy, the Domaine de la Commanderie white vino, which, according to its maker, is a vino that "one drinks it young and fresh (10-14 degrees C) between friends." 




AND, Also, it's so hot, that, a restaurant, Harry's Burritos, located in my (what can be) expensive UWS (Upper Westside) New York City neighborhood, offered free, yes, free, water to passers by as evidenced by the photographic collage posted below.

Tree of Heaven ??????????????

Juan V took the photograph posted above (which features a partial view of my urban terrace garden) this past Thursday (July 14th 2011), when he was at my place to help me take down my short-lived Honeysuckle Vine. The lovely vine had produced beautiful flowers which I featured in a few blog entries, including one which you may refer to by clicking here. My Honeysuckle Vine enjoyed climbing up the bamboo trellis (the bamboo trellis sans my Honeysuckle Vine can be seen in the top right hand portio of the photograph) which Juan V had built for me this past May, by using bamboo stakes that I had accumulated from my gardening endeavors in by-gone years. This is a fact, dear reader, which you may recall from a previous post, and that you may refer to by clicking here.  

In any event, my lovely Honeysuckle Vine is now gone — a victim of mildewy powder — which we think was caused by the exhaust from a newly installed fan in the window of the building directly west of me, as I stated in my blog entry this past Thursday, and if you'd like, you may refer to it by clicking here. 


An advantage of container gardens, such as mine, is that while it is sad to lose anything that I grow, things can be pulled out fairly easily, and another advantage of a container garden is that the things that grow in them can be moved around to meet their changing needs (in terms of sunlight as the sun shifts throughout the season). However, the problem of man-made things, such as the neighboring buildings's exhaust fan, always makes the herbs, plants, flowers, vines, shrubs , and trees which grow in an urban garden vulnerable.
Man-made things are not the only hazard in a New York City terrace garden that present a problem. So-called gifts from Mother Nature can be just as hazardous, such as the Ailanthus tree, — a tree which is planted in all the "back yards" of the buildings that surround me, and a tree which is easy to recognize by its leaves which are pictured below. 

Sometimes, the  Ailanthus tree, is referred to as The Tree of Heaven, for reasons unapparent to yours truly. I am not alone in my aversion for the Ailanthus tree. Ms. Karen Joyce Williams, an on-line editor, wrote about this tree in terms of its relationship to Betty Smith's 1948 young adult novel, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. In the novel, Smith (as on-line editor Williams points out), romanticizes the Ailanthus tree, making it "a symbol that floats through the novel" and using it as "a talisman in the eyes of the characters." However, Williams points out that, in fact, the Ailanthus tree is a very,"pervasive, strong-rooted interloper to the native landscape, elbowing, rooting, and edging out the hickory, sumac and ash trees" that are native to New York. (If you'd like to read Ms. William's full piece, please click here.)


Additionally — besides the Ailanthus tree's invasive nature — the web-worm pests that lurk on it build unsightly cob-like structures, which give it a sickly — even eerie —  quality, as in "Addams Family eerie", a "quality" that I discussed in a previous blog entry which I made in February of 2010, and that you may refer to by clicking here). This webby-appearance in its mild form can be seen in the photographs posted below.

However, to give it its due, at one time, the Ailanthus tree, did provide me with the inspiration for one of my kaleidoscopic photographic art prints, Trees From My Balcony, which can be seen below,

and which can be viewed more closely in the print collection pages of my web-site, Patricia Youngquist Photo-Art, where purchase information is available. I confess that I derived this inspiration from the Ailanthus tree, many, many years before I was a gardener, and I did not know about the disgusting, slimy worms that jumped from its pods, resting and nibbling on anything they could find in my beautiful garden, as evidenced in a "gotcha" photograph of one of the little worms on a leaf of my Paeonia suffruiticosa (Tree Peony).

I am not the only one who once received inspiration from the Ailanthus tree only to later find out that the tree was perhaps not worthy of my creative endeavors. The Ailanthus tree, and my aforementioned sentiment regarding it, was expressed in the Henry James novella, Washington Square, set in the West Village of Manhattan, in New York City, in the mid-nineteenth century.

James writes, "The ideal of quiet and of genteel retirement, in 1835, was found in Washington Square . . . it was here that you took your first walks abroad, following the nursery-maid with equal step and sniffing up the strange odor of the  Ailanthus-trees which at that time formed the umbrage of the Square, and diffused an aroma that you were not yet critical enough to dislike it as it deserved." 

Thoughts On The Summer Solstice PLUS Announcing New Digs For My 'Tamukeyama' AND For My Acer shirasawanum (Autumn Moon)

It has been one week and four days since this year’s summer solstice, and when Juan V, came over to help me work in my terrace garden this past Thursday, he remarked that the summer solstice was a sad time for him because, while it is the time of the most sunlight, it is also the time that, from the day of the summer solstice going forward, every day will be getting darker a little earlier; whereas with the winter solstice, which is the longest and darkest day of the year, every day going forward gets a little brighter. He is right about these respective solstices, and the effect of sunlight is not lost on either one of us, mostly due to our love for tending gardens.

One of the main things that was done in my urban garden this past Thursday was moving my“Tamukeyama” that I have had for number of years (and have written about in prior blog posts including ones which you may refer to by clicking here and here), into a bigger terra–cotta pot. We did this because its roots were calling out for more room to move around (aren’t we all crying out for that!), and while it was necessary to move my “Tamukeyama” into bigger digs, the move to a bigger home, for any plant, herb, vine, shrub, or tree, can be stressful. Therefore, in order to minimize my “Tamukeyama”s’ adjustment, we planted him in a manner that he could stay in the same location in the garden, and, thus continue to receive the same sunlight source that he was accustomed to; hence, his adjustment to a new home would be minimal.

You may know, dear reader, from your having seen my first garden movie, The Kiwi Vine Speaks Fifteen Minutes of Fame Almost (for information on this movie, please click here), that my “Tamukeyama” thrived in a terra–cotta pot that was placed in a rod–iron plant stand. By my having it potted in a rod–iron stand, air was able to circulate around my “Tamukeyama”, so planing its move gave me cause for great concern. Therefore, I was not only fortunate to be able to find and use a larger clay pot, but I was also fortunate that I found a larger rod–iron stand. This stand could’ve easily been the sibling of the old stand because they look alike — except for their height and girth. What this meant for my “Tamukeyama” was less things to adjust to in its new home. If you’d like to get a visual sense of what we did, please see the collage posted below:

In the left–hand side, my “Tamukeyama” can be seen standing in its former rod-iron plant stand, and though it is hard to see, because it is an aerial view of my garden, the right-hand side of the collage shows my “Tamukeyama” in its larger stand.

The other change we made to the garden was to place my Acer shirasawanum (Autumn Moon), — keeping him in his same terra–cotta home — in the stand that once belonged to my “Tamukeyama”. I find the shifting of my trees’ living quarters around akin to this: when a family has more than one child, or children of different sexes, and living space within the home permits, one child has a certain room in the house, while the others know when he or she moves out of the room, one of them will move into that space. My Acer shirasawanum (Autumn Moon) seems pleased to have been chosen to be placed in what had been the “Tamukeyama”s’ place of residence as evidenced in the collage posted below.

On the top left–hand corner of this collage, you can see my Acer shirasawanum’s (Autumn Moon), “limey” colored leaves brushing against the copper-colored leaves of my Physocarpus opulifolius (Coppertina). As you may recall, dear reader, the very awesome colors of both of these leaves, was mentioned in a previous post, authored by my Physocarpus opulifolius (Coppertina), which you may refer to by clicking here. The top right–hand corner of the collage shows my Acer shirasawanum’s (Autumn Moon), “limey” colored leaves on their own. As for the lower left–hand corner of the collage, my Acer shirasawanum’s (Autumn Moon), can be seen to the far right hand corner of the collage’s image, which means it it was in the southeast corner of my terrace garden, where it had been moved from its location of the northwest corner near my Physocarpus opulifolius (Coppertina), because it needed more shade. However, now that it has been placed in the “Tamukeyama”s' original rod–iron stand, it is in the southwest corner as indicated in the collage image at the lower right.

Whether the summer solstice means less light from this day forward, my Tamukeyama' and my Acer shirasawanum (Autumn Moon), are for the moment, unconcerned as they are happy wiggling their toes in their new digs.

A Tribute to Juan V and The Don-Man: Great Gardening Minds Thinking Alike

Yesterday, Juan V came over to help me with some gardening work, and I told him about the D–Man’s garden, and that I had given him my left over bamboo stakes so that he could build a trellis, since the D–Man had commented on my blog about the smoking/gawking neighbors that we have in common — the neighbors who tend to invade our respective gardens, much like the ants that we both appear to have. If you’d like to reread any details regarding garden invading neighbors spurring on the need for an urban trellis, or combating garden ants, or the D–man, please click on these respective links: gawking neighbors as impetus for a trellis to train Honeysuckle Vines, pesky ants that make themselves at home on my Paeonia suffruiticosa (Tree Peony), and, of course, the D–man, a young gardener, whom I mentioned in yesterday's blog entry.





Upon hearing about the D–man’s endeavors, Juan V was as touched by his efforts as I am, and so, when Juan V photographed yesterday’s aerial view of my garden, he took one of the D–man’s garden. The resulting images have been posted at the top of today's blog entry. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Juan V and me, the D–man was apparently busy at work on his computer uploading his second video to You Tube which you can view by going to this link: My little Pumpkin Plant: Patio garden update!





It is exciting to learn of the D–man’s adventures with his garden. It is also most touching to know of the D–man’s sensitivity in expressing appreciation (as he did for the extra bamboo stakes and watering cans that I gave him for his garden) because such attention to detail will surely make his garden flourish. However, while I appreciate the D–man’s giving a “shout” out to my blog and garden, I can assure you, dear reader, as you most likely know, that in giving, we receive. Seeing the enthusiasm and excitement of D–man’s reaction to all of the nuances in his garden will surely help other gardeners to grow in their efforts to embrace the smallest pleasure one receives when he/she gardens.





It is somewhat serendipitous that evidently at the same time that I was telling Juan V about the D–man, and perhaps even while Juan V was photographing the gardens, that the D–man was inside his home posting about our mutual gardens. Indeed, proved once again, that great minds such as those of Juan V and the D–man think alike.

"Love thy neighbor — but don't pull down your hedge. " (Benjamin Franklin)

The folks who live in an apartment two buildings west of me have an outdoor terrace that faces north just as mine does. Admittedly, their west view of the aluminum siding that has been placed over their brick wall is not appealing, and their northern view would be the entrance to and from their apartment to their terrace, but must they pull up a chair and sit there facing me in my terrace garden which is their eastern view?
At times I have felt very vulnerable when tinkering around in my garden tending to my herbs, vines, plants, shrubs and trees, as well as when I am entertaining guests or spending time alone writing on Mac Book Pro. It is hard for me to let the muse kick in when those neighbors are sitting there — most often in a chair facing me as they indulge in smoking cigarettes. I've gone to great lengths over the years creating natural hedges with shelves of window boxes, planters filled with very tall basil, and a lush passion vine. Photographs of these "hedges" can be found in a previous post which you can go to by clicking here. 


All of those aforementioned hedges, however, were created by using perennials; therefore, I had to "rebuild" a hedge each season. This is why I am so excited that Juan V reminded me of a wonderful vine, the honeysuckle. Easy to grow. Beautiful. Tolerant of the climate in my terrace garden. Moreover, Juan V reminded me that I had plenty of bamboo stakes from my prior gardening endeavors, and he was able to create a trellis from them, and secure it to my railing as seen in the photograph below:

Soon and very soon this trellis will be filled with the beautiful flower of the honeysuckle vine, such as the variety in the photograph posted below:

This trellis, along with the removal of the "SODAS" sign discussed in this past Saturday's  post, are both part of the quasi-Feng-shui which I referred to a few days ago when I promised to give the details, as I've done today, and as evidenced in the latest aerial view photograph posted below taken by Juan V, after I removed the "SODAS" sign from the north end of my terrace garden and after he constructed my new — and hopefully permanent hedge, in keeping with the wisdom of Benjamin Franklin when he stated, "Love thy neighbor . . . but don't pull down your hedge."

Dearest Tulip, Even you could not console Sylvia Plath . . .

These three wide mouthed tulips that are at the northeast portion of my urban terrace garden have just opened up, and in doing so they have brought to my attention the fact that a  white tulip that is directly across from them, in the southeast corner of my terrace garden, has posted a blog entry voicing his concerns about Sylvia Plath's poem, Tulips. This poem, as you may recall, was posted by yours truly a little over a week ago, and if you'd like to refer to it, please click here.




Apparently this tulip (and apparently wannabe-blogger,) who resides in a lovely bowl supported by a unique rod iron stand, and now has company because his friends have just started to open, (as seen in the photograph posted below). was a little distressed at Ms. Plath's imagery in likening the tulip's opening to "the mouth of an African cat" and was insulted that the "tulips ate her oxygen", when really all the tulips probably wanted to do, my tulip explained to me today, in earnest, was to cheer her up, make her well again.

I tried to tell my tulip that humans are complicated, and sometimes, when they are in despair, they want and feel the need to stay in a bad state. I let my tulip know that if I knew why this was so, I would be earning a much better wage than I am now. My tulips know I love them because I give them great care, and surround them with beautiful friends, as evidenced in the aerial photograph, which was taken by Juan V yesterday and is posted below. (The vantage point is the roof of the building where I live, which is the only way anyone can look down on my entire garden unless they live in one of the surrounding high rise buildings.)

However, I did explain to the tulip that when a human is in despair, such as Sylvia Plath was, it does not matter to them whether they are cared for or not, nor does having material things matter. The only thing people in a state of depression want is what Ms. Plath stated, "I didn't want flowers, I only wanted to lie with my hands turned up and utterly empty".

I also confided in my tulip, telling him that there was a time when I did not want to be consoled with flowers. Tulips in fact. The tulips that grew alongside of the house where I grew up. The tulips that my grandmother wanted me to enjoy when I was eleven years old, but, at that time, I preferred to stay in my bedroom with an air-conditioner on to block out the chirping birds, and with room darkening shades pulled all the way down, as far as they could go, and, with the little bit of light that seeped in, I would lie in bed — instead of going to school or learning to do pirouettes in dance class as my sisters were doing — and watch a bug crawl in and out of a small hole in the wall. 



I did not want tulips. I wanted the neurofibromas that were multiplying on my torso, scalp and face to disappear (which were a result of my Neurofibromatosis condition (a condition which I blogged about some time ago). I also wanted to see without needing glasses that caused the kids at school to call me Coke-Bottles, but, most of all, I wanted my father to move back home so that my mother would stop crying and crying, and I truly believed that if my father saw how ill and sad I was, he'd move back, and we'd be a happy family again.




But the years came and went, he did not move back, and I did not go outside to look at our tulips nor did I go to school much, preferring to stay and watch that bug  crawl in and out of the small hole in my bedroom wall — in the safeness of my darkroom —  than face the stigma of my having lumps and bumps brought on by my having neurofibromatosis, nor did I want to face the taunting that occurred due to my thick glasses to assist me in my extreme myopia, nor did I want to face the stigma of being a child of divorce (which was huge back in the day), and I certainly did not want anyone to give me tulips — or any other flower — and pretend that everything was all right.




Today, I rejoice with my flowers, appreciating their beauty and appreciating the fact that I can enjoy them after so many dark years. I am luckier than Sylvia Plath, dearest tulip, because she ultimately gave in to despair, dying from suicide: and so you see, my sweet tulip, even you could not console Sylvia Plath. 

My NYC Terrace Garden Spring Cleaning: Opened 62 Presents, Welcomed 2 New Arrivals

BEFORE:

AFTER:

AND A LOT OF FUN IN BETWEEN:

Yesterday, April finally relented and gave into Spring. Perhaps she heard me bring up the "cruelest month" quote from T.S. Eliot the other day, and said, "oh not that  bit again . . . " because yesterday's spring-like weather certainly made up for any ill feelings regarding April. I was able to unwrap all my herbs, plants, shrubs, and trees that had been fitted in winter-gear early last December when they were winterized. It was like unwrapping Christmas presents — 62 of them.

And I was blessed with two new arrivals (at the suggestion of Juan V, gardener extraordinaire, who has been mentioned in previous posts for his "trivet installation" and "turning table skills").  When he came to help me with my unwrapping today, he brought me an "Alfresco" mix of truly wonderful salad greens (red and green leaf lettuces with arugula, endive and radicchio) that boast a "Mediterranean flavor and feel," which I felt compelled to try with some  Greenmarket Olives, Pere Joseph cheese, and a Tom Cat baguette accompanied by Jovly — an off dry Vouvray — that I've just been to introduced by Nancy, a wine shop owner, whose exquisite taste in wine has never let me down and has been included in a previous post.

Here's hoping I have better success with salad greens this time around. Many years ago I had a "salad bar" theme,  attempting to grow salad greens in little containers, hoping my dinner guests would enjoy picking their own salad as much as I did (as indicated in the post that describes Juan V's "turning tables", and in case you missed it in the "referral" above: here is that link once again).

Upon reflection, those "salad bar" salad greens look a lot more timid than today's newcomer, or is it that I've become less timid as an urban gardener? In any event, some folks might say that my early garden years were my "salad days" (a  phrase that you may recall Shakespeare's Cleopatra using to say her affair with Marc Anthony was real — unlike her "salad days" with Caesar  when she was young and unreflective ), but I highly doubt those were my "salad days" in the way that Cleopatra describes such days, as I have never been young or non-reflective.

However, I think my newest arrivals will do just fine. They look pretty confident in photograph above the "salad bar" photograph, and even my Paeonia suffruiticosa (Tree Peony), seems to be staring at them in awe.

Happy Spring to you at last, dear reader, and I'll keep you posted on any new garden images that I add to my web-site, where you can find my collection of invitations that preserve a moment in time, event program covers that enhance any occasion, and greeting cards that are about more than communication. 

Please, dear reader, feel free to let  me know how your garden grows.