MY NOW GARDEN IN NYC

On the 18th floor of my building, the garden I've tended for 10 years is dressed in snow. A bird perches atop the center of the iron fence.  Plenty of fruits and seeds are begging to be eaten: rose hips, Aronia and Virginia creeper berries, grasses and annuals seeds still clinging.

City kids make forts just as well as country kids; the materials may differ slightly.

Any signs of spring where you live?

WINTER MOSS IN NYC

 

For my January birthday every year, my very frugal Mother always splurged on a bunch of daffodils from a real florist. The sunny color was the perfect antidote for the short frigid days of a Philadelphia winter, and made me feel special.

This year for $8 I bought 10 fresh tulips from my corner grocer and plunked them in a glass jar with water, inside a birch basket I've had for years. Somewhere in my many moves the basket had lost its clusters of green moss and appeared rather grim.

My niece from Philadelphia made a quick visit after her day at the annual knitting expo in New York, surprise gift in hand: a small bag of dyed wool locks. What's a collage artist to do when confronted with the perfect substitute, when its so hard to gather moss in January in NYC?

She gets out her glue of course and glues wool locks on the birch, where it should look fine for many more years. Thank you Ruth. You must have gotten my unconscious ESP message.

THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER

 Mid-November, flowers on my 18th floor roof garden are fading away, and I want to capture the scene in a New York City garden collage.
When Other Ellen sees the finished piece she asks about the view of the twin towers in lavender on the left. Straight out of my unconscious mind, totally unplanned, but now I can see nothing else.
To start, I pick a few last blooms before Thanksgiving and bury them in the same silica sand I've used as a desiccant for 25 years. Clusters of hydrangea 'Endless Summer', marigolds I raised from seed on my windowsill, blooms and buds of the rose 'Knock Out' will be covered by an inch of the silica for about a week.

 On a piece of black foam core, cut to fit an old frame painted black, I lay out some pressed flowers and leaves, photos of plants in the garden, and papers with a lavender design.

I want the elements to burst out of the frame and not be constrained by it. I move stuff around and try another version, with the image of 'New Dawn' roses at the top of the frame and some cut hydrangea pics at the bottom left.

I add photos crumpled with glue for a 3D effect, then start looking for berries in the garden.
Clusters of dark blue Virginia creeper berries, rose hips, and red Choke cherries will dry in the arid air of my apartment.
Below, a detail showing dried rose hips, choke cherries and marigold  petals.

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WREATH ADDITIONS

I made the wreath from fresh greens from New Hampshire (see blog post just below) and now want to add more natural decorations. I raid my stash, buried in a large plastic box in my NYC closet: okra pods and Devil's claw pods (aka cow catcher pods, unicorn plant pods) I grew on my flower and herb farm, still perfect after 15years; locust tree pods found on the streets of Manhattan; stiff neck garlic stems from Jen's NH garden, sorghum seed heads grown on my rooftop in NYC, one stray lotus pod and a dried papaya slice from god-knows-where; a couple of pine cones.
Materials which are completely dry will last for years, can be removed and saved as you would glass tree ornaments.

I tuck many of these elements among the green branches of the wreath as it lays on the table, along with a few small mandarin oranges from the market that add a zap of color. Notice a new candle in the center, lower and more subtle. Will I impress my book group coming for supper tonight to discuss Lowland?

THE WOODS IN NEW YORK CITY

Greens and lichen from the woods of New Hampshire, schlepped to New York City after a Thanksgiving visit to Jen & Mark Hopkins in Canterbury. Jen and I cut arbivitae, pine, spruce, fir and princess pine from her back forty. I wrap short cuttings onto a sturdy 12" frame with thin wire, aiming for a wild look.
Back in my Manhattan living room, I invert a low green bowl on my glass coffee table

 and lay the wreath over the bowl. Don't tell me how uneven it is. I like it that way.

After placement, I insert a few loose cones, lichen and pieces of thin birch bark among the greens.

Sure you can add a big fat candle to the center, keeping it well away from the greens, but next week I'll show you my favorite design. 

A MOST UNCOMMON GIFT IN NYC

The gift wrap, a recycled plastic bag, dead leaves and brown paper bags inside.
But since the gift was from noted author/artist/storied NYC gardener Abbie Zabar, maybe something else of more interest.

Inside the plastic, nine individually wrapped strawberry plants, roots carefully shielded, each plant with a rubberband to secure it until planting. Ever thoughtful, Abbie choose one plant (top left) with a berry still attached so I could see what I had to look forward to.

The reverse side of the label had the variety name, 'Mara des Bois' which I could further investigate. Full sun, plant with crown at soil level, excellent drainage, like all other strawberries; info courtesy of Mr. Google.

Abbie explained that the plants were divisions of her own and the leaves from her roof garden to use as mulch. I thought back over all of the divisions I've given over the years and I blush with shame at my carelessness.

Nine plants, happily ensconced in a self-watering container await next spring.
But I have one MAJOR problem. How can I let them fully ripen and still get a taste before the hordes of kids who live in the building scarf them. They have as much right to pick from the communal garden as I, but me, me, me I quietly scream.

THE NEW 10TH AVENUE

photo courtesy of Jen P. Hopkins
Jen and I push our way off the 23 Crosstown bus and stroll down 10th Ave, on our way to an art gallery and then The High Line. Cars are honking, sirens are blaring and behind a white picket fence we spy this scene.
I laugh out loud at the incongruity of largest swath of lawn in Chelsea with grazing sheep. Getty Station a new public art program just opened its inaugural show, Sheep Station by the late Francois-Xavier Lalanne, featuring 25 of his epoxy stone and bronze 'Moutons'. I'm assured by a gallery attendant that there are two kinds of sod, Kentucky blue grass and another kind that he can't remember and I can't identify.
This was an actual filling station, much as I remember it, in a commercial neighborhood now with rolling hills and lolling sheep.

The pleasure of walking anywhere in this city is stumbling across the surreal, and in this area, The High Line is responsible for a renaissance.