Urban (Terrace) Jungle: Cons of Cooperativeness

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

Main part of terrace looking west toward fence - empty, bare terrace pavers.

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...

Seedlings on terrace floor, up against the parapet to catch the last of the direct sunshine.

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.

Gutters filled with weedy planting medium, strapped to the railing on the parapet on the side part of the terrace.

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.

Dehydrated tomato seedlings planted in eggshells on windowsill.

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.