Baby, it's HOT outside . . .

On the southern wall of my urban terrace garden, I keep a thermometer (seen in the photographs posted above, taken over two consecutive days respectively, before seven o'clock in the morning). I initially got this outdoor thermometer to keep in a cold-frame which was built specifically to use in the winterizing of my garden (as discussed in a previous post which you may refer to by clicking here and you may see photographs of the cold-frame by clicking here). Winter and its freezing temperatures prompting songs like Baby, It's Cold Outside, seem a distant memory. For at 6:41:23 AM, EDT, this Tuesday morning, the thermometer registered a little over 80 degrees as it did yesterday, giving me a good indication that by late morning or very early afternoon New York City, where I live and have my lovely garden, will officially meet the heat wave criteria for the tri-state area on this summer day, July 19th 2011.

A heat wave "is a prolonged period of excessive hot weather (we have been experiencing this in New York City) which may be accompanied by humidity" and "severe heat waves have caused catastrophic crop failures." (For more details on heat waves, please click here.) In addition to the extreme heat that has plagued New York City for the past several days, even more high heat, humidity, and near 100 degree tempeatures are anticipated for the remainder of the week and throughout the weekend. Therefore, the latter part of the aforementioned quote is what has me concerned when it comes to my terrace garden; because baby, it's hot outside . . .



Under "normal" summer weather circumstances I have to water my garden, where I grow over sixty things, by hand, three times per day (early morning, late afternoon-early evening, and late at night). However, when the weather conditions are severe, I need to water more often than that or I, too, have catastrophic failures with a number of my herbs, vines, plants, flowers, trees, and shrubs. Although the task of watering is time consuming — since I do it by hand — it does give me the opportunity to attend to minutest detail of each of the things which I grow in my garden (as discussed in a previous post which you may refer to by clicking here).




The scheduling of my watering ritual is always in between my free-lance writing, movie-making, and photo-art assignments, which for the past several months have dwindled. Thankfully, the majority of them can be fulfilled by my working at home, and, therefore, I am able to maintain my garden very well. However, for part of this week I have accepted a job to work in a Lower Manhattan office all day. While it is a blessing to have an opportunity for extra income in this economy, the job is spiritually draining, which is ironic since it is in a church;  and, so, today, after I gave each of the things that I grow in my garden a generous morning drink, I began to experience a feeling (perhaps prompted by the fact that where I'd be working would be spiritually draining) which is very familiar to me, and that feeling is regret.




Regret for the things I have done in my life; and regret for the things that I have failed to do. For if I had made better choices in my life, or if I had overcome certain physical and emotional obstacles, I might have more "regular" work, or I might book bigger free-lance assignments, and I might even have a garden with a watering system like the urban garden of a woman (whom I will call TD) that I know who, like yours truly, lives in the Upper Westside of Manhattan. TD's place is thirteen blocks north and four blocks west of where I live, and, like me, she has a terrace garden. Her garden has a has a lovely Hudson River view — with no high buildings to block the view's sight lines —  so the feel is open and expansive. Because her garden is not "hemmed" in by surrounding buildings, it gets a chance to cool down at night, unlike the garden of yours truly. Her garden also has an elaborate watering system, and another thing that is unlike yours truly is  TD and her computer scientist partner own their place, which I was told that they, in 1999, renovated for $400,000 — a fact not lost on me,  who at her ripe middle-age still struggles to pay rent.

I initially met TD a few years ago in 2008, through the Achilles Tandem Program (a cycling program that I have referred to in previous posts which can be found by clicking on the following links: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE, and SIX). The program, as I have said in the aforementioned posts, was initiated to enable blind, and legally blind folks like myself, to participate in cycling.




One Saturday morning after completing a ride offered by the Achilles Tandem Program where TD had been my cycling captain, I was invited by her to attend a party which she was throwing for her partner's birthday. TD and I had discussed gardening during our tandem ride, and she thought I might enjoy seeing her garden. I showed up at her party with a bottle of special vino, a box of my handmade greeting cards (which I showcase in my down-loadable brochure  as well as throughout the  store-front pages of my web-site, Patricia Youngquist Photo-Art , where purchase information is available).




I also brought TD and her partner some small cuttings from my herbs and a small — but very unique — plant from my terrace garden. I had thought that they might enjoy adding what I grew in my garden to hers. I did not know at the time that her apartment was a two story floor-through; nor did I know that her terrace garden overlooked the Hudson River and was a two floored garden chock full of numerous lush things including plants, herbs, trees, shrubs, and vines — all of which were watered by a very elaborate watering system.

At the party she served a huge array of foods, many of which were cooked on a large grill. The food was accompanied by a vast selection of wines and beers, and there were over sixty guests. Sixty guests is quite a large number to accommodate in a New York City apartment party. Therefore, the vast garden, and the enormity of the food and alcohol being served, quickly caused me to feel that all my humble (but heartfelt) gifts were inadequate, and that I too was inadequate. These feelings were cemented by the fact that the guests in attendance were highly educated and held successful jobs with large salaries. Even though I am highly educated and graduated with honors, I never landed or was even considered for employment that paid very much money. My feelings related to the personal and physical struggles that are associated with this fact came back at full force that evening. It was hard for me to accept that I was barely living pay check to pay check as everyone toasted their accomplishments with the latest and best vintage, but I nodded and smiled as they told of their success stories and was somewhat in awe that TD, with all the amenities one could ever want in her large apartment, all the loveliness in her garden, and the evident support of her computer science partner, was distressed that night because her ice-cream making machine was not working; it was only producing a cold runny soup-like dessert.

As it happens, I did ride with TD a few times after her soirée, including The Transportation Alternatives 2008 NYC Century Bike Ride , and ultimately she came 

to my garden for lunch, but, with some staff changes at The Achilles Tandem Program, TD stopped participating, so 

I don't see TD often, but, as it happens, I did see her recently on July 4th 2011, when I was on Manhattan's Westside Greenway to watch the fireworks, and so perhaps it was my seeing her again that made me think of her garden with its watering system today, and to revert to the inadequate feelings that I experienced the night of her soirée when I found myself imagining what my life might have been like if only . . .

Of course, my imagining if I had done things differently that I would be more successful by now is not only futile; it is also presumptuous and even ungrateful. It is futile because in real life there is no Control-Z or Edit+Alt+Undo, to change what one has done with their life choices. Shakespeare's Lady Macbeth, has told us, "What's done, cannot be undone"; and as my father used to say, "If the dog hadn't stopped to sneeze, he'd have caught the rabbit.". 

Sometimes I think, and perhaps you do as well, dear reader, that the mental reshuffling of the cards of life choices is an effort to keep them still active, keep the possibilities still open, sparing the pain of loss and failure. For me it is interesting to note that when I, as do other folks that I know, reshuffle the past, the outcome of my imagined scenario, and the imagined scenarios of folks I know, is always to believe that, had we done other things, life for us would mean that we'd be healthier, thinner, more talented, have better jobs, and always have more money. It is interesting to note this, because rarely in the reshuffling of life choices game, do I, or folks that I know imagine the scenario being having ill health, being fatter, being less talented, or having a worse job or no job, or being poorer; or, to not be alive at all to indulge in what ifs and if onlys, which is why I pointed out that my doing this is futile, presumptuous and ungrateful.




However, on a hot morning such as today, it is harder for me to keep a good perspective as I hand water my herbs, vines, plants, shrubs, and trees, with a prayer that they will not suffer and die from this afternoon's predicted heat, since I will not be around to water them, and cannot ask others that I know to do this for me, nor can I afford to pay someone to step in for me today while I am in Lower Manhattan.




My recently added Echinacea plants seem to understand my ambivalence about leaving them for the day, reassuring me with their waves and smiles as seen in the photographs posted below,

that they will hang tough in today's heat.




And they do seem to be enjoying terrace garden life. Now if the photographs that they pose for, which are available as prints, or as images rendered into invitations that preserve a moment in time, program covers that enhance any occasion, and greeting cards that are about more than communication, would start bringing in some revenue, they'd be earning their keep and possibly a watering system!  (-;

ek-in-AY-see-uh's the name . . .

"Ek-in- AY-see-uh", my lovely and playful coneflowers (shown above), said, after the herbs, vines, plants, flowers, shrubs, and trees which I grow in my urban terrace garden wondered how the new arrivals pronounced their name. These new-comers to my terrace garden snuggled easily into their new home; however, their entrance was bittersweet. The Echinacea plants were a gift from a dear friend, who gave them to me as a form of consolation, because my Honeysuckle Vine, a vine which I have discussed in a number of posts, including ones which you may refer to by clicking here as well as here  and here, was attacked by mildew; possibly caused by an exhaust fan that was put in the window of someone who lives in the building directly west of me. There is no space in between the buildings, so it is likely that the recently installed fan blew fumes onto my Honeysuckle Vine, which was vulnerable to such an appliance. Hence, there was no way to protect my sweet Honeysuckle Vine —  such is one of the tribulations of maintaining an urban garden, where things grow in containers, making them very susceptible to the consequences of man-made things. In any event, the Honeysuckle Vine had to be pulled down immediately because, as any gardener knows, mildew, such as the variety that attacked my vine, would spread quickly and destroy other things that I grow in my garden. 

Therefore, the Echinacea plants were given to me as a way of easing the pain of losing my Honeysuckle Vine, and although they will not crawl up my recently built trellis as my Honeysuckle did — which was discussed in a blog that you may access by clicking here — the Echinacea plant's brilliant colors and fun shapes will add some much needed cheer to me and the things that I grow in my terrace garden after losing the vine.




I have always enjoyed Echinacea plants, even though the known perennial is an annual in my garden. Sometimes this perennial-as-annual-bit happens in container gardens, because certain plants just prefer to be in the ground. That being said, when I do my garden winterizing, I always include my Echinacea plants — giving them the chance to winter over with the other things that I grow in my terrace garden. My winterizing methods are successful and have been discussed in a previous post which can be found by clicking here. However, in spite of the many Echinacea plants that I have had over the years, all from different growers, and in different colors such as white, magenta, orange and pale yellow; they have not lived through the winter.




Most gardeners know that the Echinacea plant is "a genus of herbaceous flowering plants in the daisy family, Asteraceae. The nine species it contains are commonly called purple coneflowers." (For source and more information, please click here.) Even though the Echinacea plant is associated with its coneflower, it does not appreciate being called a cone-head. In general, the herbs, vines, plants, flowers, shrubs, and trees which I grow in my terrace garden do not go for nicknames. This fact was expressed by my Physocarpus opulifolius (Coppertina) tree, who, as you may recall, dear reader, from a posting which he authored on May 5th, 2011, expressed how weary he was of being called "Coppertone" (referring to the suntan lotion), based on his "common name", Coppertina. When it comes to nick-name calling, I must say I am in agreement with the "brood" that I grow in my terrace garden. Since my name is Patricia, folks often take it upon them selves to call me Trisha, Trish, Patsy, Patti, or Pat. I find it somewhat rude when I introduce myself as Patricia and in turn the person that I've just introduced myself to turns to me and says. "well, Pat . . . " or " and, so, Patti . . . ".




It is not the nick-name per se that I am against (in fact some people prefer to just use an abbreviated name), it's the assumption that's made by certain folks to call me by something when, in fact, I have just introduced myself as something else. I respect what people prefer to call themselves, and I extend that further by respecting the names of things which I grow in my terrace garden. In fact, I've recently had name-tags made for everything that grows in my garden, and I plan to write about this in a blog post on the networking of things which grow in a terrace garden; so, please, stay tuned to my blog for details. Each one of the sixty-plus things that I grow in my terrace garden will have a name-tag for this networking event, but, meanwhile, for a sneak preview of what their name- tags look like, I have included a couple of photographic collages, posted below of my 'Tamukeyama'  (Japanese Red Maple) and Pyracantha coccinea (Orange Charmer Firethorn), respectively with their name-tags.

Both my 'Tamukeyama' (Japanese Red Maple) and my Pyrancantha Coccinea (Orange Charmer Firethorn) are excited to be a part of the upcoming terrace garden networking event, and, dear reader, you are probably familiar with both this tree and small shrub from prior blog posts which you may refer to by clicking on the following numbers.

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

As for this past Tuesday's (July 12th 2011) newcomer to my terrace garden, my Echinacea plants: the things that grow in my garden and myself are honored that they are here. We love their "pods" which have the texture of hedge-hogs as seen in the photographs posted below.

My herbs, vines, plants, flowers, trees, and shrubs, and I are well aware that the Echinacea plants are well known for their medicinal purposes, but just looking at them and enjoying their playful personalities is medicine enough for us! 




Additionally, Echinacea plants have always provided much inspiration for me, which was cited in a blog entry that I made this past May (you may refer to by clicking here). Moreover, a photograph which was taken of Echinacea plants that I grew a number of years ago was rendered into an image used in one of my petite wrap-around cards known as Echinacea Triplets.This lovely card can be found in the store-front pages of my web-site , Patricia Youngquist Photo-Art, where purchase information is available.

No Friggatriskaidekaphobia (Fear of Being Born on Friday the 13th) for the H.F. Clematis! (27 Flowers were Born Today!)

This past Monday, my post attempted to challenge the adage which states, “bad things happen in threes, and today’s date, of Friday the 13th, is one that so many folks have superstitions or fears about that their phobia has been given the name Friggatriskaidekaphobia Day.

Friday the 13th is a date that occurs three times a year, and perhaps that is how the rumor of bad things happening in threes got started—that is if you are someone who thinks that Friday the 13th is a bad thing, and, surprisingly enough, many people do fear this date.

For example, one of my closest friends, whom I love dearly, lives in the building across the courtyard of my apartment. This is the building you can see in the photograph at the top of this blog entry—just behind my SODA sign—and it shows the view of my urban terrace garden when the camera is pointed north. The picture was taken on April 19th 2011, when my garden was shyly coming back to life for another season, after having been safely winterized from December until the third week of April.


In any event,  my friend lives on the Fourteenth Floor of this building; however, if truth be told, he lives on the Thirteenth Floor, because, when the owners of his building were numbering the floors and assigning numbers to the apartment units, they did not want to use the number thirteen. Hence the building’s elevator goes from twelve to fourteen, but, of course, there really is a Thirteenth Floor, disguised with the name Fourteenth Floor—a fact that my friend pointed out “is not too wise” should there be a fire, “particularly if a fire occurred and firemen were counting flights of steps as they ascended them to save a life”.

Another fact related to Friday the 13th is this: When any month begins on a Sunday, the thirteenth of that month will fall on a Friday; and, dear reader, I am sure this piece of information will be useful to you in planning your activities if you suffer from Friggatriskaidekaphobia, but you need not have any more fears about that this year,  because this calendar year of 2011’s Friday the 13th only occurs in May. On the other hand, next year, 2012, there will be three Friday the 13ths (January 2012, April 2012, and July 2012), which is the maximum amount of times Friday the 13th can occur in a calendar year.

But what if one is born on Friday the 13th? Does this mean he/she is destined to a life of bad luck? I have heard an array of answers to that question, and my favorite answer is, “aren’t you lucky just to be born?”

My H. F. Young Clematis apparently thinks this to be the case: its buds have been waiting to give birth and have been basking in the northwest corner of my terrace garden for a few weeks now,

and today, at least twenty-seven magnificent flowers were born. (A few of the new arrivals can be seen in the photographs posted below).

You may recall how this vine just keeps on giving from what I wrote about it last year, which you may reread by clicking here —  a vine that obviously has no qualms about Friday the 13th and whose mission in life is about bringing beauty and joy to anyone fortunate enough to behold it.

If you do not live near such a vine, please consider bringing it to you and your friends by choosing it as an image to be rendered into an invitation that will preserve a moment in time, or for an event program cover that will enhance any occasion, and even to use for a greeting card when you want to reach out to those who are dear (or maybe not so dear) to you by sending a card that goes beyond communication. Although an image of this vine has not been rendered into a card at this time, you may always custom order it by choosing a size and format from selections in the store-front of my web-site.

Sylvia Plath and Tiny Tim. Even The Gold-Diggers. The Tulipas (Tulips) Speak to Everyone — yours truly included — during this Easter Tide

Easter, which was celebrated this past Sunday, is not just a single day, but an entire season known as the Easter Tide, which lasts fifty-days from Easter to Pentecost. Easter Tide is a time of new life, and, on this second day, I was blessed with the appearance of new life — a single white tulip (as seen in the photograph above). Its delicate petals against my thick rustic brick wall was not a contrast lost on me. This is just one of the nuances that makes urban gardening such a joy. However, I have never grown tulips in my garden before, and at the end of last season, Juan V suggested that bulbs be planted.




Just three weeks ago their leaves began to peek out from their winter-gear (as seen below),

the winter-gear  that they had been "dressed" in this past December, as discussed in my post on Garden-Winterizing. From the looks of the buds in the photograph at the top of this blog entry, the lone tulip, will soon be joined by other tulips, whose colors remain a mystery to me, although the buds are providing subtle hints (tufts of magenta? pink? lilac?) as seen on the bud tips below,

however, for me, the not knowing what color they will be is another pleasure of gardening — urban or otherwise. Perhaps, the mystery of the tulip's color is like being pregnant, and not knowing if the baby will be a boy or a girl, but knowing it will be loved no matter what it is. But, for today, the white color of my tulip is another detail that is significant to me, as the white color of tulips is a symbol of forgiveness, and one of  the Easter season's celebrations is knowing the power of forgiveness.

Tulips, of course, come in many beautiful colors, including a striking "purple with the color  symbolism of royalty and nobility", a stunning "pink associated with happiness", a vibrant "yellow associated with friendship", as well as a magnificent "red associated with expressing love". There are many, many more varieties of tulip colors, as most everyone knows, and if they are truly blessed have also seen; however, for purposes of this blog posting, I've included these more "common" colors along with their associations, which were presented in this link, because of the writer's other observation, that "if you visualize a tulip flower, the first thought/feeling that engulfs the mind is that of comfort and coziness". The "comfort and coziness" of the red tulip was something the poet, Sylvia Plath, deplored as evident in her nine lined poem, Tulips, which has seven stanzas that total sixty-three lines, and, for your convenience is posted below.

The tulips are too excitable, it is winter here.

Look how white everything is, how quiet, how snowed-in

I am learning peacefulness, lying by myself quietly

As the light lies on these white walls, this bed, these hands.

I am nobody; I have nothing to do with explosions.

I have given my name and my day-clothes up to the nurses

And my history to the anesthetist and my body to surgeons.

They have propped my head between the pillow and the sheet-cuff

Like an eye between two white lids that will not shut.

Stupid pupil, it has to take everything in.

The nurses pass and pass, they are no trouble,

They pass the way gulls pass inland in their white caps,

Doing things with their hands, one just the same as another,

So it is impossible to tell how many there are.

My body is a pebble to them, they tend it as water

Tends to the pebbles it must run over, smoothing them gently.

They bring me numbness in their bright needles, they bring me sleep.

Now I have lost myself I am sick of baggage ----

My patent leather overnight case like a black pillbox,

My husband and child smiling out of the family photo;

Their smiles catch onto my skin, little smiling hooks.

I have let things slip, a thirty-year-old cargo boat

Stubbornly hanging on to my name and address.

They have swabbed me clear of my loving associations.

Scared and bare on the green plastic-pillowed trolley

I watched my tea set, my bureaus of linen, my books

Sink out of sight, and the water went over my head.

I am a nun now, I have never been so pure.

I didn't want any flowers, I only wanted

To lie with my hands turned up and be utterly empty.

How free it is, you have no idea how free ----

The peacefulness is so big it dazes you,

And it asks nothing, a name tag, a few trinkets.

It is what the dead close on, finally; I imagine them

Shutting their mouths on it, like a Communion tablet.

The tulips are too red in the first place, they hurt me.

Even through the gift paper I could hear them breathe

Lightly, through their white swadlings, like an awful baby.

Their redness talks to my wound, it corresponds.

They are subtle: they seem to float, though they weigh me down,

Upsetting me with their sudden tongues and their colour,

A dozen red lead sinkers round my neck.

Nobody watched me before, now I am watched.

The tulips turn to me, and the window behind me

Where once a day the light slowly widens and slowly thins,

And I see myself, flat, ridiculous, a cut-paper shadow

Between the eye of the sun and the eyes of the tulips,

And I have no face, I have wanted to efface myself.

The vivid tulips eat my oxygen.

Before they came the air was calm enough,

Coming and going, breath by breath, without any fuss.

Then the tulips filled it up like a loud noise.

Now the air snags and eddies round them the way a river

Snags and eddies round a sunken rust-red engine.

They concentrate my attention, that was happy

Playing and resting without committing itself.

The walls, also, seem to be warming themselves.

The tulips should be behind bars like dangerous animals;

They are opening like the mouth of some great African cat,

And I am aware of my heart: it opens and closes

Its bowl of red blooms out of sheer love of me.

The water I taste is warm and salt, like the sea,

And comes from a country far away as health.

Not wanting to leave you with such dark thoughts, dear reader, (although they are understandable), you can also bear in mind that performers, such as Gold-Diggers and Tiny Tim, perceived tulips in a different way, as you may know from the lyrics posted below of

Tip Toe Through the Tulips.

Tiptoe through the window

By the window, that is where I'll be

Come tiptoe through the tulips with me

Knee deep in flowers we'll stray

We'll keep the showers away

And if i kiss you in the garden. in the moonlight

Will you pardon me?

And tiptoe through the tulips with me.

And with that dear reader, I invite you as spring progresses, to come tip-toe through the store-front of my web-site, where  I offer a 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, using images that are inspired from my terrace garden.

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.