The Work of Elves

Small acts of community love, working behind the scenes.

In the spirit of the upcoming holiday, planting bulbs, partaking of holiday lights, and taking in a comedy show.

[Edited January 4, 2023 with addition of link.]

Free Time

Research says it's possible to have too much free time ... Um, what?!

Sunset rainbow viewed from the terrace, captured on a workday, during a break I gave myself from the grind - some stolen "free" time.

Others fantasize about money; those of us fortunate enough to have our material needs met fantasize about time.  I fantasize about all of the ideas that could break free from my brain and come to fruition - if only I had time to pursue and execute them; I fantasize about early retirement.  And those flights into lala land have become more frequent with these last couple of crazy years, when work has been on overdrive.  For the time deprived, it is hard to fathom that there could ever be too much free time.

But a study indicates otherwise - that over five hours a day mitigates the sense of well-being, while two hours a day is the floor for maintaining that sense of well-being.  This whole blog is geared toward attempting to hit that sweet spot - still elusive. 

The thing is, the study results seem to be premised upon "free time" being quite literally unoccupied time - such that the benefits can be regained by picking up a hobby, spending time with people, finding purposeful activities.  Well, no kidding, right?  Isn't that the whole purpose?  Who is left with nothing to do?  (Prisoners?  Torture victims?)  One would think anyone with a brain and some agency would find SOME way to occupy the "free" time.

On the other hand, it did occur to me that my assumption that "free" time would somehow be productively occupied is probably very much symptomatic of capitalist inculcation, if one wants to critique our systems that way.  I see a point in it - human beings shouldn't always be forced to be productive.  But, yes, my ableist default mode is to assume that intelligent people will have passions and curiosities and pursuits.  "Free" is not the absence of something to do, just the ability to control the selection of the cause to which to focus one's energy.

That's the very pursuit of happiness, isn't it?

Lap of Luxury

Outdoor space as necessary amenity in New York City luxury residences.

Between being, befuddlingly, slightly ahead of the curve on residential trends and the happenstance of a global pandemic and the new found general appreciation for stretching room, somehow I have managed to be the owner of an apartment with a highly sought after requirement in luxury abodes - the outdoor space - at precisely the moment when it is most prized.  Very lucky me.  

It all began with that New York City rite of passage - the real estate upsell.  Fresh out of law school and with limited time to find an apartment, Sissy and I had turned to a broker after dead ends looking through listings on our own.  We had a budget.  We saw holes in walls.  Then the broker said there was a listing right above our budget; "no," we said; "it's on the way to the next one," he said.  So we went, and, of course, it blew everything else out of the water.  It was a duplex - so the volume just felt expansive, even if the footprint was not necessarily larger.  And it had a little terrace off the second floor - large enough for a cafe table and four chairs, with an umbrella, and planters at the edges.  I couldn't believe that we, ordinary girls, could afford that in New York City - though we had to stretch a bit.

And so, when it was time to hunt for a place, I had to have outdoor space - I needed my plants, my space to stretch and unwind and not feel confined.  I was willing to venture to the "far east" for more affordable apartments in order to get it.  Back in those days, before the Q, we were OUT there.  But we knew right away when we saw it - the terrace was exactly what I wanted.  Truth be told, I might have considered exposures better, but, well - it felt too good to pass up.  And it has been far more positive than not.

I suppose sometimes it actually works to follow your passion - the plants, the respite - and let the finances work themselves out from there.  When I refinanced last year, the appraiser put a higher than expected premium on the terrace.  So, patience, and luck - until it falls out of fashion.  And then I still will have my little Jardin to console me.  No idea what the owner of those luxury units who don't do their own gardening (who in the world would want a space that comes pre-planted??!!) do with their outdoor spaces when the day comes when having one is more hindrance than benefit.  I guess their unit prices fall, making room for the diehard and passionate gardeners to move in and green the terraces and balconies.

[Edited October 31, 2021.]

Eagles, Beavers, and Sea Turtles - Oh My!

The return of some non-human native New Yorkers.

My most vivid Nat Geo moment in this crazy metropolis of ours unfolded some years ago when I stopped mid-run at dusk in Carl Schurz Park to watch a huge bird, clearly a raptor (probably a red tailed hawk), perched in a tree, and then, at the base of the branch on which it was resting, some sort of movement.  It flapped its wings and flew off, and in the waning light, the shadowy silhouettes made it all clear - a wriggling rodent grasped in its talons ... the original New York City takeout order.

Since then, I've seen our large feathered friend again (or its relations) in the park (that photo above), as have others.

And they aren't the only non-humans coming back to city life.  The City has been trying to clean up for decades - about as long as I've been here - and the seeds planted and nurtured are bearing fruit, and the creatures are coming back to partake!

My love of this city runs deep, but all of the cold hard concrete and sterile steel can just leave us sentient beings feeling bereft of that natural life force.  The urban jungle can be a harsh place, but the jungle also provides refuge.  And I have always believed there is the possibility, the necessity, of balance, of cohabitation, of nature existing with the structures and things we humans need for a comfortable existence.  We just have to be more thoughtful about designing and going about our journey of coexistence.  Not a zero sum game - there's room for all of us.

[Edited October 29, 2021.]

Accepting Autumn: Surrendering to Mother Nature

Honey bee hospice care.

I saw this little guy earlier this week - on a paver, which in and of itself is unusual, of course. Buzzing about, flitting from bloom to bloom is what we like to see.

He seemed almost drunk, stumbling on the ground - but there were no pollen sacks. He seemed to be dragging a leg, or limping. And then he would somehow lose balance and land on his back, legs flailing in the air.

So I thought I should help him out and flip him over with the stem of a fallen leaf. This happened a few times before I even started to record the footage here.  Something seemed off.

And so after the footage, it seemed my aid was just prolonging something inevitable. I righted him, and then walked away to take care of other gardening tasks.

And when I came back a bit later, he was on his back, and still. I scooped him up with the leaf and deposited him into a planter to return to the earth.

Sobering to bear witness to another being letting go of life. There is a solemnity about it, to surrendering to Mother Nature - but a peace. And Autumn is full of those little moments.

[Contrast to the excruciating guilt of carrying out the mandate to kill any spotted lanternflies I might see. My count is up to 7. It still feels awful. And awful to realize that my method for getting the job done has become somewhat routinized. It goes against every instinct I have. All of their little corpses are under a large rock in the planter with the maple trio.😔]

[Edited October 28, 2021.]

Accepting Autumn: Fall Flora+ Fashions.

Autumn flowers, foliage, and more.

Some of the plants in the Jardin have started to change and acquire their autumnal looks.

The mop head hydrangea that was once white with hints of lime has gone pink….

…The lilac leaves have gone toward a yellow rimmed burgundy….

… The green shiso has become pale yellow; the purple shiso a faded pink….

…The ring hydrangea leaves have also picked up a burgundy shade….

…While the blueberry ones have cast themselves in a bright red with orange undertones.

And across the way, at the right time of day, one of the buildings nearby is bedazzled in sequin-reminiscent light reflections, portending the showers of falling leaves in the days to come.

Stealing time this past weekend to absorb the seasonal changes.

Accepting Autumn: Sun Salutation - Adieu

Letting go of Summer as Autumn's shadows creep in.

Autumn on the terrace means longer shadows, a very discernible loss of sunlight. Par for the course with a north-facing outdoor space, but not really any less gloom inducing, despite being able to articulate the scientific reasons and appreciate that it is but one temporary part of the larger cycle of things.

Where at the height of summer and solar angle, there was almost unbearable brightness and heat along a good part of the length of the north parapet (interrupted by the shadow of the building’s chiller unit), nowadays there is a limited period of direct light, and only in the northeast corner.

In past years I kept everything where it was. But with all the plants still in flux from earlier this year with the building’s terrace membrane replacement, it felt easier to shift things around… the bench on the east parapet of the Main Terrace moved to the north shadowy parapet, making room for sun lovers; hopefully the bit of extra sun gives them a boost for next year. But the junipers and hydrangea are fending for themselves, still by the northern parapet, in the shadows (together with some volunteer tomatoes that sprang up in a hydrangea planter - we’ll see how those fare, still green at the moment). 

The mandevillas that were stuck inside all year begunning during the construction are out enjoying some unfiltered light at last - better late than never. 

The blueberry (sharing space with shiso, clown violets, beets - only the last planting planned) is in a limited sunny corner of the South Wraparound, not yet elevated to optimize light catching - on the never-ending To Do list. 

And then there’s the interior perpetually dark corner (ever since a certain private girls’ school constructed a taller than expected building that cut off my view and the morning light) of the North Wraparound - home to a hydrangea that still seems to flower, beets (started in sun on the roof), Malabar spinach, cardinal vine. I will need to experiment and see what else can tolerate those conditions - hoping for peas, but that may be a pipe pea dream.

Self Care

"There is no such thing as too much ice cream."

Acts of self-preservation amid the chaos.

These past few weeks have been rough at work, and the feeling of hitting the end of each day without even starting that day’s To Do list because of all of the unanticipated fires is just draining. Having others take their stress out in my direction because they are experiencing similar is no fun either.

And so amid all of that, this past weekend’s self care in the form of a day excursion with one of my most enduring, dearest friends - an outing long-planned before Congress started throwing monkey wrenches at the tax code - was potentially in jeopardy.  She flew into Long Island, and with juggling, lots of juggling, keeping that commitment and taking an afternoon off to wander through a designer show house and furniture stores out East (even if there were intermittent interruptions from work calls and emails), getting a pedicure while waiting for a dinner reservation, having some fantastic food prepared at Blu Mar in Southampton with fun company, was just enough of the prescription to keep insanity at bay.

It was only an afternoon, after all.  Then a bit of a morning with the parentals, before heading back to the city to try to keep a lid on things, was the next part of the balancing act.  Though choosing to have a meal out with Sissy upon returning, and finally, finally, getting to try neighborhood spots Gray Hawk Grill and Anita Gelato, both of which opened during the pandemic - it all felt almost like normal times again.

Balancing all of that with tackling deferred gardening tasks and side gig work, and all the decadent eating out with some relatively healthy cooking in - refining the chickpea pancake into an improved chickpea crepe, utilizing the still abundant (even in early Autumn!) fresh harvested squash blossoms and kitchen scrap scallions - felt like an accomplishment to make up for all the things not yet done at work.  Discovering I have gotten back to my 2001 weight (give or take a couple of pounds) - without any real effort, other than, you know, surviving a global pandemic - was a morale bonus, too.

Balance of time.  Balance of food.  Balance of efforts and energy.  Different perspective.  Much needed recentering - like a chiropractic adjustment (so I've heard; no experience firsthand).  Truly overdue self care.  But then it becomes a craving - why can't I have it more often, or all the time?

9/11/2021

Reassessing choices on the twentieth anniversary of September 11th.

In 2001, I was on a plane, over the middle of the Pacific, returning from a month of adventures in Asia on my post-Bar trip, heading back toward New York City for what I knew (from having worked before as a legal assistant at a BigLaw firm) was going to be an intensely demanding job. After a days-long detour to Vancouver, by myself, away from everyone that I loved, and able only to see home weepingly through the relentless news footage alone in a hotel room, battling jetlag, I resumed my trip on September 14th when American airspace reopened.  

Weeks later, I finally began that first BigLaw job as an attorney on October 1st.  I came prepared with rubber soled flat loafers that I kept under my desk - just in case I needed to run up or down stairs and walk miles toward home (and I used them two years later during the blackout of 2003) - and a piece from a newspaper, probably the New York Times, written in the days after 9/11, that I had clipped and hung on my office bulletin board - one of those pieces searching for meaning in it all and reminding its readers to take and make time for the important things and people, and not take life for granted.

Over these two decades, I would give myself a C, at best, maybe only a C-, at heeding that advice. The hamster wheel is really hard to get off of once you start running it.

I considered having a somber day on the 11th, and, superstitiously, not scheduling anything risky; I considered just tackling the backlog of work now ever near with remote office technology.  Instead, I watched the ceremonies in the morning, went out to look for the Tribute in Light in the evening, and in between went zip lining for the first time, with a friend, and saw Mama Hen and Papa Rooster en route home, and retrieved a bunch of my plant babies from their yard to repopulate the Jardin (now cleared for use after the summer’s building-mandated construction project). 

I choose life, and love, because I can - when those were robbed of so many others.  And I will try to rededicate myself to making that choice more regularly - work myself toward a B, maybe someday an A.  There really isn’t a reason or a meaning all those lives were lost, or for the collateral damage since.  But while we are here, we get to make certain choices, and to choose to support others when we see them opting toward life and love, rather than fear and anger.  And I hope my choices in that direction will be supported, and, if not, that I will nonetheless have the courage to forge ahead in that direction anyway.

Alien Invader

Lifelong city girl finds herself making a report to the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation about the invasive spotted lanternfly. 

Well, here's a predicament I didn't expect: I saw these two, separately, on the terrace today.  The first one's pretty, right?  It was stuck in the crevice between the pavers on the terrace this morning, and dead, so I decided it should have dignity in its demise and deposited it into one of the planters. Then, this afternoon, I saw the second guy, and took photos.  I used Google Lens (the most convenient tool for learning the names of unfamiliar plants and animals) to try to identify it.

Turns out the two are the same thing - the spotted lanternfly - native to, among other regions, Vietnam (coincidence? I certainly hope that's all it is).  And it's been causing a bit of havoc in New Jersey - it is the subject of a vehicle inspection and quarantine campaign so that it doesn't spread farther. Under the New York guidelines, I am supposed to destroy it, then report it 😬😮. YIKES!!  So I tried to capture it, and true to the description of its characteristics on the interwebs (it is reported not to fly so much as hop, despite possessing wings), it hopped - over the railing of the parapet - and either dropped thirteen stories, or flew off.

Well, I have now reported my sighting to the New York State Department of Environmental Conservation. You might note that New York/Manhattan was not one of the counties under an alert on the New York site - till now? 😳😬 (So now I am harboring the body of a dead fugitive, possibly the first one in Manhattan.)

[Oh, by the way: You know how you have friends who, if you committed murder, would help you hide the body?  I AM NOT ONE OF THEM - PLEASE DO NOT CONFESS TO ME.  I will defend your reputation, I will help post bail, I will do everything in my power to get you the best defense attorney available, I will listen to why you did it and hold you and likely cry and torture myself that I could not help you before the deed was done.  But please do not ask me to help you hide the body, and feel horrible for the victim and horrible for you and horrible about me and my limited capabilities for being a friend; I won't be able to and will feel like I need to report the death to the authorities - as I reported the spotted lanternfly.  Just please keep me in the dark till it all comes out.]

Alien "invaders,"  like this spotted lanternfly, are entirely distinguishable from refugees ... like the Afghan translators and civilian workers and other helpful, on the ground allies and friends of the United States during the last two decades of war, to whom we owe a moral obligation to provide a home here, in our country.  But whom we are, shamefully, about to leave in limbo as their country collapses around them to a brutal regime, because we somehow did not get it together to airlift them out over the last seven months.  How, how, could we not have learned from Vietnam?  How?  Beyond, beyond upsetting.  The reports have set off some anxiety in me; even without firsthand memories, and only a life of stories of fleeing as a long ago capital fell, heard as I eavesdropped on adult conversations at an age when I was far too young to contextualize, but old enough to understand fear and sadness and uncertainty and trepidation, a refugee child never outgrows the unease and sense of moving amid danger.  So I have written to all of my elected representatives imploring them to accelerate the evacuation process.  

I checked in with my friend who lived and worked in Afghanistan most of the last decade; he has been furiously writing letters of recommendation in support of special immigrant visas.  He is a good one, a truly good one.  Heartbreaking, for all of his, and others', work to go down the drain in a disorderly departure, for individuals who helped him, and their families, to be left in danger.

Postscript: In the time it took to edit and add links, Kabul fell.  Just this morning I was still urging people to write their elected officials to accelerate the evacuation.  I thought there might be days.  There were barely even hours.  The Good One (formerly "NF") thinks it might not be so bad.  A mutual friend, a woman with whom I once worked as a legal assistant, who married a man who runs an NGO for which the Good One worked for a while, also thinks it might not be so bad.  I very much hope that is the case.  (The Good One volunteered to go back in.  At least with such a rapid fall, I hope there will be no need for him to do so.  It's already bad enough that he is in a COVID hot zone helping the Rohingya.  But he will do what he does - "GO" is an apt acronym for him; that is what he does - he cannot stay put.  The realization I could never have convinced him makes friendship easier; it wasn't me, it was him all along.  Admirable, truly.  But untenable for a relationship.)

[Edited August 15, 2021.]

Tomato Tuesday and Delayed Gratification

Tomato Tuesday reflections on planting seeds in the garden, and in life, and the wait to harvest.

I say to-may-toe, you say to-mah-toe...  Let's definitely NOT call the whole thing off, because I have been waiting and have big plans to devour these little yellow darlings!  Finally have something to show off for Tomato Tuesday!

These little grapey yellow ones were grown from the seeds of a market mixed tomato clamshell, so I don't know the variety.  They look pretty much as I recall seeing/eating them last year, so I am happy they developed true to type; the interwebs say sometimes that doesn't happen with the hybrids that end up in the markets.  Never sure if that is just heirloom hype or actual fact.  The yellows were leaps and bounds ahead of the super sweet red grape ones I grew last year and tried sowing again this year - the yellows probably benefitted from all the compost in their pot, whereas the reds were planted in the same pots as last year, with very minimal amendment, just a bit of compost applied to the top around the plants after they were planted.  (Ah well, learning for next year.)  Always just thrilling that the seeds I started months ago in Spring have actually turned into something edible!

Now, I just need to get back to them, or get them to me... all of the tomatoes are still at the Mother Garden; the yellows have grown tall enough that I am not sure I can transport them back to the city without damaging them.  They may stay at Grandma's till they are done for the season.  The reds probably could come in by car - they are so far behind that they would fit - though they will probably get more sun at Grandma's, and have a better chance to mature and set fruit.  So they, too, may stay at Camp Grandma's.  We shall see; I so want them here so I can pick them at just the peak of ripeness.  But they are better off there.  And I can go out and catch them on weekends.  That's probably for the best.  A little bit longer of a separation and they stand a much better chance of becoming the tomatoes they are meant to be.  So I should  just be patient and wait.

Like my vision for my new, more balanced life: I made some initial moves toward developing and building my side gig.  Spoke to two friends who have connections to my target clients.  All to test drive this idea that's been at the back of my mind for probably more than a decade, when the seed was planted in some volunteer work.  So this Summer into Autumn will be the dry run phase - free services in exchange for feedback.  We'll see whether any of it bears fruit, and after that, whether I can actually build the life I want with this as one of the building blocks.

Planning, work, delayed gratification ... all  hallmarks of maturity - the tomatoes', and mine.  Patience.

[Edited August 11, 2021.]

Bobbitted Blossoms, Battered (and Fried)

Aubrey (suspected cousin of Audrey from "Little Shop of Horrors"), the mystery volunteer squash plant of gargantuan proportions that arose from the compost top layer dumped into the largest planter during the mandated rooftop exile, the plant that strangled its tomato planter mates with its climbing tendrils, that collapsed of its own weight over the side of the planter, crushing and bending the tomatoes as it fell, nonetheless nurtures and feeds me, even without mature squash. 

Since I don't actually want to grow squash (my guess so far, from the single female blossom with its little immature ovary, is that we are expecting a little pumpkin) and am just letting Aubrey be, to live out a full and productive life this season with the one squash that seems to be forming, a squash blossom meal, for squashy birth control as much as seasonality of ingredients, was in order. And since I am (somewhat guilt-strickenly) giving myself permission not to work on my day off, today was the day for new ingredient research and experimentation (and a timely blog post!).

First off, the Bobbitting - the interwebs say the stamen is not edible; only the flower is. A shame, because as the stamens were plucked, they had a nice, fresh, vegetally juicy aroma.

Felt a little funny about processing, but 🤷🏻‍♀️. Most of my blossoms were past prime, hard to pry open, the petals crepey and thin and delicate and stuck together, full of pollen. 

Note to self: prime harvest time is just as they first open. I only had one in that stage; it was larger and fleshier and turgid and pre-pollen, perfect for meal prep. The rest, even the one that was in full bloom in the morning, were withered and unyielding and messily yellow-staining. Most of the recipes call for stuffing the blossoms; I didn't bother. It's my day off and that would have been too much effort for likely failure; they just looked like they would tear if I tried to peel them open yet again.

So I just lightly battered (corn starch, salt, smoked paprika, cayenne pepper) and fried and finished with a sprinkling of sea salt while hot, and they were delish! Next time, maybe I will try with seltzer for an even lighter batter. And batter in one batch and fry all of them together while the oil is still hot and plentiful (this go around, in mini batches, some of the batter steamed and looked uncooked, rather than golden crisp). 

And I quite liked my base accompaniment pilaf of rice/quinoa (yes, left over from yesterday) with plentiful spinach and scallion, seasoned with salt and lemon pepper, too. That's another repeater.

This Jardin-centric meal has me counting how many more blossoms Aubrey has budding, and wondering whether enough can come in simultaneously for a repeat meal. Or, the blossoms are supposed to keep up to a week refrigerated; maybe I will try harvesting at peak and storing until the yield is suffucient. And supplementing with young stems - I did one, and it was lovely, not spiny at all.

Salivating for Aubrey's next yield.... 

Reintroduction

Ephraim The Maple and his new treepit mates.

Sometimes, Mother Nature's creations are presented and named before their true selves are known and knowable, and then they are renamed and presented anew.

With love, I re-present to the world Ephraim T. Maple - he needed a middle name, and The is as good as any other (borrowing from the tradition of the clever creators of my favorite frog, Kermit).  

I read that, and it echoes items I have seen of parents reintroducing their at-birth misgendered children, reintroducing them in their teens as their true selves - such a loving approach.  We have come a long way as a society, though much longer to go.  Conversations are a start.  Difficult, contentious conversations ... with Papa Rooster, for one.  He doesn't get it - yet.  He is having trouble understanding how little John-John from next door now has breasts and presents as female.  We have not been introduced to whom I presume to be a her yet; we do not know her name - but I have advised the parentals to listen for it.  Mama Hen gets it.  Hard to know if she is simply more open minded, which I think she is, or if the difference in their ages accounts for the absorption of the concept.  Or maybe mothers are more accepting?  Not always, though - that's too much of a generalization.  But Mother Hen IS more accepting than Papa Rooster; she passed on her nurturing ways towards living things to me.  Though she slaughters plants that I beg to save - the latest batch rehomed to join E.T.Maple.

Yes, I mother plants - I accept and own my quirks; so, yes, I anthropomorphize them too, and bestowing names comes with that territory.

Giving my guerrilla gardens hashtags also comes with the territory.  E.T.Maple's is #YorkvilleUESTreepit507E81, and I finally made a little label so his other caretakers can follow along, and maybe identify themselves, and communicate and coordinate!  Or not - we shall see; it's an interesting experiment.  I met some more of his supporters - it just seems if people follow pet accounts, they might also follow hashtags for the trees that make them happy, and several of my neighbors have shared that E.T.Maple's survival through an exceedingly rough, COVIDy 2020 did just that 😊.  The latest supporter was the lovely young woman who emerged from her building by the tree pit and stopped by to chat and said she had contributed the three river rocks at his base, all the way from Oneonta!

The Before

The tree pit's new little informational label.  Right - a graphic designer I am not; I was far too optimistic about the width of that wooden post.  Perhaps I should add his name.

So yesterday E.T.Maple got new pitmates, evictees from the Mother Garden.  There are four main clumps of sedum in the corners that will flower come Fall.  There are also four pairings of some sort of pale pink poppy-like flower and yellow flowering plant - if they survive the intermittent scorchers of days forecasted, and my absence, over the coming week, they should flower this Summer.  Lastly, the little grape hyacinths in the circle around E.T.Maple - those already flowered this Spring in the Mother Garden, but with their little bulbs now buried and their leaves hopefully absorbing a bit more sun and energy, they may grace us next Spring.

Sedum.

Pale pink poppy-like and yellow flowering plants.

And updates to the seedlings begat from Carl Schurz Park: the mirabilises in each of the side pebble circles are still living, and at least one of the additional pre-soaked seeds that I direct-sowed last time seems to have germinated!  The cleome seedlings interspersed in the tulip circle at the front also seem to have survived and have true leaves!  They should flower late Summer.

The more robust mirabilis.  And above it - that looks like a new mirabilis seedling!

The battered mirabilis seedling - still hanging on.

Cleome seedlings with true leaves.  Above them, the Oneonta river rocks contributed by an E.T. Maple supporter.

Then new tulip bulbs that I dug out a few days ago from the Park Avenue medians supported by Fund for Park Avenue will be planted in Fall for Spring 2022.

To my neighbors: Please help water E.T. Maple and his friends when you walk by!  Thanks!

[Edited May 24, 2021.  NO More to come. Subsequently edited August 27, 2023 to close out.]

Cons of Cooperativeness

Terrace Season Cut Short - Trials and tribulations of living in a New York City cooperative apartment building.  

Barren main part of the terrace.

And just as the growing season got underway, so it came to an abrupt halt. The frustrations of living in a New York City co-op are myriad, not the least of which is having to abide by an unsympathetic board's decision to repair terrace membranes with little warning -  requiring moving every single item off the terrace - on ridiculously short notice, at one's own expense. And losing the use of one's outdoor space for four months, at the height of terrace season, just as vaccination rates have finally kicked in and the CDC has loosened restrictions and recommendations on socializing after a long pandemic.  Oh joy of joys.

The terrace has never been so empty since I have been here.  During all the other bouts of repairs, the planters and furniture were just shifted around. Not this time.

And I fought, and protested.  I wrote long emails.  I recruited my neighbors in the effort.  At the end of the day, all I got was more time and the right to hire movers of my own choosing, for half the cost of what the board's contractor would have charged.  It's not nothing, but a partial victory at best.  And still just annoying, and it took up so much time that I didn't have.  I appreciate that the work had to be done at some point, that my downstairs neighbors have been living with leaks - which is not fun either.  But episodes like this, when I feel so utterly unheard, make me reconsider living in the city; my fantasies turn toward buying a piece of dirt somewhere and living off the grid, where I can garden and kayak at will - try to survive off running an air bnb, go with the blueberry farm plan....  Sissy hit this point two years ago with the big flood, the one that went down five floors.  Living with others is just hard sometimes; communal building living, that microcosm of New York City life, can be trying - it can really feel like the urban jungle, especially without the respite of the terrace to soften the blow.  But then, it's New York - I am not quite ready to be put out to pasture in the suburbs yet.

So the mandate was for everything to come off the terrace.  The large planters and furniture have gone up to the roof.  Assorted small items are inside my apartment and the guestroom. 

But until work actually begins and they shut me in here, the little seedlings can still be put out to get some sun...

Catching the last remnants of sun.

...And, in my act of defiance, I decided the gutter garden could stay - it's not in the way of the terrace pavers or membrane. It will need to serve as my temporary garden until the rest is allowed to return from exile on the roof.

Gutter garden.

With all the busyness of the massive move, I neglected to spritz the tomato seedlings for a few days, and nearly murdered them. But they seem to be bouncing back now with water and sun - all but the smallest and weakest.

Poor, suffering tomato seedlings.

Before the forced exile went down, all of the smaller pots (a guestroom floor's worth) were driven to the Mother Garden for safekeeping. And some of the seedlings that have been indoors got transferred into the large planters to fend for themselves up in exile on the roof; after all, they will just die inside the apartment without proper sun, so might as well see if they can make it in the world on their own.  I had so much hope; the planting of seeds is an act of hope and faith.  The little first-time pepper successes got put out. 

First year of successful snacking sweet pepper seedlings.

Some of the mirabilis and cleomes were put out with the peppers.  It's like sending kids off to college and changing the locks.

Cleome babies, mirabilis babies.

Mirabilis cluster.

Mirabilis planted to fend for themselves.

Mirabilis close up.

Cleome cluster.

Cleomes - settled in.

Cleomes closeup.

Good luck and God speed!

Hope to see all the green babies thriving and well on the other side of this.