How Does Your Garden Grow?

My day was supposed to be full to the brim with babysitting but at the last minute Miss D's grandma (not my mom, the other one) pulled rank and stole her away for the day so I was left with a huge expanse of empty hours and no plans to fill them. And so, never one to spend a day lolling around, I immediately went into project mode and descending upon and empty patch of dirt in my parent's backyard. My dad had recently torn down the shed that stood in this spot for my entire childhood and this barren plot was in serious need of greenery.

After a trip to the nursery and roping dad into putting a nice border around the plot we were ready to garden! Or rather... to rototill. Despite all posted warnings I choose to operate this heavy machinery in a skirt and flip flops cause I'm super hardcore (also known as stupid hardcore). In addition to around 75 tons of rocks and a disturbing amount of broken glass I dug up a dead squirrel and in further testament to my hardcoredness I picked it up and threw it into the trash without so much as a whimper. Perhaps I haven't converted to 100% city girl just yet.



After erecting the overly snazzy border dad announced that he was done with the project and that it was ALL me from there on out. This was Dad's biggest lie ever because what followed was me asking him questions like "Ok, is this enough dirt or should I add that other bag?" To which he'd respond, "I don't know! This is your project!" but as soon as I'd move forward without the extra dirt he'd begin to mutter things like "hmmm seems a little sparse, might need more dirt." Somehow we managed to finish without me throwing any dead squirrels at his head.

This Was Supposed to Be a Home Depot Rant But I Mostly Just Ramble

When folks contemplate life in the big city they think of vaguely offensive art instillations and great Ethiopian food and bars that stay open all night. They do not think about the day when an itchy green thumb will leave them with a burning desire to go to Home Depot. Despite the general lack of space for big box stores there are actually multiple Home Depots in the greater New York City area including one on 23rd St in Manhattan where the door men wear company themed three piece suits complete with a bright orange stripe down the side of each pant leg -- this was my father's favorite thing about New York during his one, and likely only, visit. My trip, however, was to the Home Depot on Northern Blvd in Queens where the large parking lot and numerous car dealerships within spitting distance could lead one to mistake the city for the suburbs. But make no mistake, this incarnation of the big orange building supply store is nothing if not New York City gruff. I walked to the Home Depot which took about 30 minutes and is certainly something that I would not have done if I resided in the suburbs since the roadways would be sidewalkless. Score one for urban living.

When I arrived at Home Depot there were no carts in sight. I hiked around the parking lot, peaked behind the decking display and walked through the front doors trying to look all "hey, I need a cart, someone point me to the cart section." all in vain and eventually was reduced to talking to a Home Depot employee. She directed me back out to the parking lot where I was forced to stalk customers coming out of the exit doors. I rejected the first abandoned cart because it had no back and I could not picture myself successfully pushing this peninsula of a vehicle down the store aisles without ending up buried under a tumbling pile of plants, fertilizer and terracotta at my first hard stop. I spied a cart without any obvious bodily harm in a distant corner of the lot and managed to seize it before another desperate shopper pounced. It turned out this cart was also broken -- Home Depot clearly does not value its Queen's customer base-- but only in the child seat section and even if I had brought a toddler with me I'd have surly traded it for a cart by now anyway. I entered the store.

After stocking up on red yellow and orange dahlias, daisies and ranunculuses(who loves a theme? I do! I do!) I headed indoors for the more practical needs -- pots and soil. The far wall of the Garden Center that clearly once had potting soil stacked up to the ceiling was completely empty, apparently the whole of New York City is gaga for gardening -- either that or someone had a lot of bodies to bury. Since I'm currently reading In Defense of Food and have learned that modern produce has fewer nutrients than produce from my mother's childhood (Seriously? Fuck you, apples.) likely at least partially due to the chemicals in modern fertilizers so I was totally prepared to spend vast quantities of money on organic soil but staring at the empty wall and contemplating a midweek return to the hell of Home Depot I would have gladly compromised on straight nitrogen and horse poop -- alas, no luck. You're likely thinking that surely some other, less evil, closer to home, retail business must be willing to sell me vast quantities of potting soil but you would be very very wrong. My best back up for Home Depot is buying my soil in 2lb quantities from the florist near home at a cost of 8 billion dollars. Home Depot was also out of window boxes, small plastic planters and drainage dishes. Awesome.

When I arrived at the register the jade plant that I had hoped to brighten up my living room with was pricetagless. Rather then burden herself with a price check the salesgirl told me to go back to the plant section on the other side of the store and find a plant with a label. I love a scavenger hunt, really, but I usually prefer that winning be rewarded with a better prize than "the opportunity to give a huge corporation $3 for a tiny plant." I located the jade plants and, behaving as is I were on The Amazing Race shoved aside other shoppers and dug through the display rejecting all of the 5 unmarked plants, I may have also whispered "train? choochoo? andale!" under my breath, it's all a little fuzzy now. Anyway I finally found a plant that was ready to buy and sprinted up to the checkout again pushing past other shoppers giving me the stink eye for cutting in line. $129 later I was exiting the store to throngs of shoppers looking to lay hands on my cart. Circle of Life, bitches.

Armed with way more flowers than one could carry I needed a ride home and since my one friend with a car was busy I was going to have to get this ride home from a complete stranger. I'll pause here for a moment while my country kin take a time out to wonder if I have any good stuff that they could lay claim to after my death. This being New York City I figured, correctly, that just outside of the exit (beyond the cart hungry hordes) would be 3 or 4 guys standing around asking people if they needed a ride home. My driver today was a large Hispanic man who could definitely kill me with his bare hands if he wanted to but I wasn't concerned until we got his car -- a White Ford Windstar minivan with a "Te Amo Jesus" license plate frame. Legit car services do not drive anything other than black town cars with ripped interior upholstery and 3x4 inch flags from African countries hanging from the rear view mirror. So even though my driver seemed like a nice enough guy (despite repeatedly calling me "baby") I sketched out a brief contingency plan involving a tumble out the side door to the relative safety of the asphalt should things take a turn for the worst. Luckily it never came to that, I arrived home both alive and without any road burns.

And now? My flowers and seeds and herbs are stuffed into their containers and we'd all be ready for spring if it weren't for the dreary weather that has, of course, taken over the city. At least I have an excuse to tromp around in my cute rain boots.

Urban Gardening

It is surprising that I have made it all the way to 29 without having my own garden considering the gardening gene that must have been passed down from my mother. My post college years have been marked by a pronounced laziness which often makes it difficult for me to get it together in May for a garden in July but this year I applied my well honed project manager skills to growing things and I'm delighted with the results.

For my first foray into the urban garden I started some dahlia bulbs and zinnia seeds in planters on the fire escape outside of my bedroom window. The zinnias jumped right up within a few days and I was immediately hooked on my garden project. Zinnias really are the best starter flower ever. They're easy to grow and quick to deliver pretty bouquets. I'm already enjoying vases full of flowers in the bedroom and living room and the blooms last about 2 weeks which seems to be about the amount of time required for the cut flowers to "come again." The plants are also amazingly forgiving when I forget to water them, which happens roughly twice a week, luckily their 2 day droop turns back to perk within 30 minutes of showering.

It is highly likely that gardening is giving me a bit of a God complex -- I cannot get over how magical it feels when a little seed turns into a plant! I quickly added to my Eden by purchasing 2 tomato plants and a basil bush at the Union Square Farmer's Market and soon had my own little baby jungle. In May I spent a number of Sunday mornings curled up on a cushion among the foliage with a popsicle and my laptop looking forward to a flower filled summer. Sadly the dahlias never raised their heads above the soil -- I blame inferior Home Depot bulb product -- so a few weeks ago I filled that second planter with more zinnia seeds and added some nasturtium and morning glory seeds to the backs of both planters in hopes of a vine and flower covered fence come mid August.


The tomato plants fast out grew the fire escape and in mid June were relocated to the roof outside of my kitchen window. This relocation is perhaps the best idea I've ever had as it facilitates just picked tomatoes without leaving the kitchen. It also makes my general laziness less likely to result in parched plants since the sink is now located 4 feet from the very demanding and spoiled tomatoes. Watering the plants does, unfortunately, still require being sort of outside, which usually requires getting dressed. I slack off as much as possible on that last rule so if you're in Astoria some weekday around 7:30am you can enjoy the site of me leaning out the window trying to hide the fact that I'm only wearing a tank top and underwear.

My Brandywine tomato has already given me two babies, both of which were delicious. The fact that I have tomatoes to eat in early July serves as proof that little Miss Brandywine is a raging slut. back in May when she was only a foot tall and yet to graduate to a big girl bed she was already taking the party to the bees. I was a naive new mother who didn't expect blossoms until the plant was at least 2 feet tall so I missed the obvious signs of teenage pregnancy and called my own mother (Grandma Brandywine) in a panic over having already failed at gardening only 3 weeks in. Mom advised me to leave the babes on the vine but to also begin plucking any blossoms until the plant was at least 2 feet tall -- this birth control method was much more labor intensive than I was prepared for, if only they made tomato chastity belts. I also have a cherry tomato plant who, I'm happy to report, is on the path to riotousness and is clearly embarrassed by the brazenness of her sister. At an impressive 3 feet tall she has only recently begin putting out a few demure little buds so there are no cherry tomatoes to munch on yet.

It's possible that come the heavy tomato season in August I will be buried in fruit and complaining about all of the tomato sauce that must be made and frozen before it all goes bad but for now I'm a happy urban Farmer McGregor, bunnies beware.