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.

HEARD ON THE STREETS OF NYC

Planting my four tree pits yesterday, I got lots of garden advice:

Limo Driver with heavy accent to ESP: You're planting the cabbages too high. In my country where I had a big garden I had lots of fruit trees in my back yard. I know you should dig deeper.
ESP to Limo Driver: Yes, I agree, but here on the streets of New York, the tree roots have taken over the whole plot and I can't dig down further without harming in roots. Where is your country?
Limo Driver: Turkey... (continues description of his long-lost garden.)

Young Man passing by: Those cabbages look good. Now is the time to plant them!
ESP to self: That's why I'm planting them now.
ESP to Young Man: Thanks

Middle Aged Woman to ESP: Where did you buy those little evergreen shrubs?
ESP to Middle-Aged Woman: I bought the kale in the flower district on 28th St. I pruned the juniper and cedar from the rooftop garden in this building, and just stuck the pieces in the ground to make them look like little shrubs. They'll look good for one to two months more if it's cooler and they get water regularly. I can replace them later if the ground isn't frozen too hard.
M-AW: Great idea!
ESP to Self: You can never resist an opportunity to teach, can you?

Woman Rushing to Yoga Class: I use those cabbages in my Thanksgiving arrangements. If one is missing you'll know I took it.
ESP smiles, says to Self: #@&*^#!

See post just below, WHAT HAPPENED? for images of tree pits before replanting. I didn't disturb the big one that still looks good, just saved some kale to put in after the first frost wipes out the annuals. I expect to get a complaint within the next two days from someone in the building: The tree pits don't all match.
ESP to Potential Complainer: You take care of the gardens for the next ten years, I'm done.

WHAT HAPPENED?

On May 10, 2013, two of the four treewells that I plant in front of my building, each with a pin oak in the center, looking good.
On Sept. 26, the same two treewells.

The far one looks great, the other, pitiful. Both watered by building staff, both with the same with the same annuals planted lovingly by me in spring. What happened?
Other Ellen and I did an analysis. Our pet theories coincided with slight variations.

It all comes down to water.  The Great one above, is right in front of the building entrance, with a tree planted just 2 years ago, shallower roots but more soil. The soil was replaced at the time of tree-planting, less dog pee. The soil level is three inches below the concrete rim, so the treewell retains the water until it percolates downward.

The Pitiful one is closer to the corner where the wind whips through, drying out the leaves. In the center lives a tree planted 16 years ago, in a smaller plot; established tree roots are everywhere.  Since it is further from the doorman, we surmise that more dog owners allow their dogs to pee there. But probably most important, the tree roots have heaved upward, pushing the soil level to the top of the concrete barrier. If the guy watering tries to finish quickly with a heavy flow both water and soil flood over the rim, making a big mess. He stops before this happens.
Not enough water goes to the annuals!!!!!!!!!!

NATIVE IN NEW YORK

On a magnificent last day of summer 2013, I accompanied our house guests to the New York Botanical Garden specifically to see the new Native Plant Garden just opened. Too late for the glory of spring ephemerals and too early for trees burnished by autumn, I wasn't expecting much color, but was wrong thinking the garden would be all grasses. Passing by  the native border we were greeted by a display of several varieties of American asters, fall perennials and winterberry,

Then along the boardwalk promenade, stands of Lobelia cardenalis, and Lobelia siphilitica at the end of their bloom cycles. The highbush blueberries were just starting to turn.

In the 3 1/2 acre garden, the terrain changes from woodland to wetland to wet meadow, dry meadow, groves of trees, and glades, home for over 400 species and cultivars of native plants.
The NYBG definition of 'native plants' is fluid and somewhat confusing, in that the explanatory booklet cites "native plants of Northeastern North America" yet the stunning display of pitcher plants includes Sarracenia  x areolta, labeled Alabama and Mississippi.

 Is that hardy here? I have no idea and no one there to ask.
Among the trees, shrubs, ferns, and grasses, I was delighted to see this Eastern prickly-pear (Opuntia humifusa)  growing in the crevice of a rock as if it had sprung up naturally and been there from birth. A brilliant placement.

A discordant note which displeased us gardeners three, was the design of the central water feature. The geometrical, hard-edged structure seemed to us completely out of place in this native plant garden.
And yes, I can understand that the designer might have wanted to prove that native plants can fit into even a contemporary garden but instead demonstrated the opposite.

I'm afraid that this photo doesn't prove my point either as I'm conditioned to compose shots which eliminate discordant notes. See what I mean at the NYBG's own photo. Or better yet, go see and judge for yourself.

JOIN ME @ THE BBG

BRANCHING OUT
Join me on Sunday Oct. 6 from 10-1:30 at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden where I'll be teaching a collage workshop titled 'Branching Out'.
The class description reads as follows:
Whether you choose to create a forest, a copse, or a single tree, each student will make a collage to take home. Found natural materials like bark, twigs, pressed leaves, and specialty papers and photos will allow for individual expression. The starting point for your collage could be abstract or realistic: a tree of life, a favorite tree you climbed as a child, or a collection of trees here at the Garden.

To learn details about registering, go to https://classes.bbg.org/CourseStatus.awp?&course=13FAEARTBOC

The collage at the top is made of two images of tree bark, crape myrtle @ the BBG and allspice (Pimenta dioica) @ the Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden, plus bark peeled from a river birch on my roof, white birch from VT, and sycamore bark from a street tree on E. 80th St., NYC. It's 9" x 9"on paper.

This collage will be exhibited next month at the Alaska Pacific University's ConocoPhillips Gallery, Anchorage in a drawing show with a botanical theme. I can hear the multitudes roar, YOU CALL THIS A DRAWING? Well, turns out that artists have a lot of leeway, so yes, the writing on the bark qualifies.

TIS THE SEASON

 

The Crape myrtles (Lagerstroemia) are in bloom all over New York City, just when most flowering trees and shrubs have lost their color and green foliage abounds. (above, the Conservatory Garden and below near the Boat House, both in Central Park)...

 by the side of the General Theological Seminary in Chelsea, masquerading as a lilac...

and welcoming us to the New Leaf Cafe, Fort Tryon Park, Upper Manhattan.

I started my gardening life in Zones 5 and 6 and considered Crape myrtles as plants only for Southern Climes;now realize I must have one, two or three for 'my' NYC rooftop.

Flowers range in color from white to red, pink, coral, purple and all shades in between. 

 

I've just seen pictures of a potentially interesting new introduction with 'black' leaves, 'Black Diamond' t.m.. growing only 10-12 feet tall and 8' wide for smaller garden spaces. This cultivar is being introduced in five flower color choices. Hope to see it live at the Garden Writers symposium in Quebec starting this week.

Crape myrtles look great in winter as well as summer, with incredably smooth but exfoliating bark, seen here in two specimen trees at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

My last Crape myrtle sighting, just yesterday, on a terrace at the Time Warner Center, Columbus Circle, and me on the 31st floor of a nearby building caught without my telephoto lens. Look carefully for a splash of pink in the terrace garden.