NATURAL HISTORY OF A NYC VERTICAL GARDEN

On E. 86th St in Manhattan, a new yoga studio Pure, with the first vertical garden I spied in the city. Astounding in 2008.
But within a year, the dreaded scaffolding went up to allow workers to check the mortar of the brick building above, as required by law. Not surprisingly, within three months of all shade, most of the plants had died.

Two years after planting, this sign still gave me hope of a resurrection.

But yesterday...

6 1/2 years after initial planting, same building, same Pure Yoga Studio, more scaffolding.  I was told by the guy at the desk that a permanent wood sign would be going up, it's too cold in NYC for outdoor plants. Ya think?

LOOKING HARD IN NYC

Around NYC we're desperate for a sign of spring. Yes, there have been sightings of witch hazel blooms at the NY Botanical Garden and snowdrops on Abbie Zabar's terrace but I want my own signs, closer to home. On my 18th floor roof garden I seek and find.
Above, real flower buds of  Hellebores, the lenten rose, tucked deep in a container, preparing for the start of Lent next week.

Buds are starting to form on the pussy willow tree propagated from one stick, rooted in water six years ago and shoved in a container outdoors. The tree is ready for its spring pruning.

 In my apartment, the new prunings stand in a vase of warm water, giving me pleasure as the buds enlarge and mature. These  stems will root and be ready for transplanting anywhere I chose, the grandchildren of my first NYC grocery store bunch of pussy willow.
Spring is on its way.

WINTER AT BROOKLYN

I went looking for Spring at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Sure I had to deliver my collage to their art show, Visions of Nature, hanging until March 8th in the Steinhardt Conservatory Gallery.
But I NEEDED signs of SPRING and went searching for them at the BBG.

INSTEAD, WINTER

BERRIES FROM FALL

 Nandina provides a shot of color but no feeling of spring.
 A hint of a promise, a slight swelling of the magnolia buds.

 PEACE

The paths are perfectly plowed, black ice coated with sand. I have the garden almost to myself.
I'm starting to appreciate this winter thing.

CREEPY

Lurking in the background of this image of crab apples remaindered from fall, is the Brooklyn Museum of Art which adjoins the Garden. As I attempt to take photos with my smart phone, messages pop up three separate times begging me to come to the museum. THE NERVE! I have to stop paying attention to the garden and photography and three times delete their messages. I should have marched right in, demanded to speak to the PR director and ranted. But my feet were cold.

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?