Irene

Here are some shots from my window post Irene.

Leaves remaining flipped over.

 People venturing out.  This lady was taking pictures of the tree that was blown down.

It's hard to see but this is the tree that snapped in two from the wind.

Also hard to see but the plots with the tall sunflowers and tomato plants were all blown down.  I really need to get a zoom lens.

Here are some pre-Irene pics.

Nasty squirrel.

Gorgeous basil.

 Cinnamon basil flowering.

It's hard to see where my neighbor's plot ends and mine begins.  I don't know what he/she is growing but it's intruding into my cukes and perilla.

More healthy basil.

Baby cukes growing.

Purple basil turning green.

Perilla getting taller.

Sunday evening after Irene's worst has passed.

Lights on.

I'm not the only one.

So a friend of mine (hi Tim!) alerted me to the following New York Times article:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/07/nyregion/community-gardens-find-theft-is-a-fact-of-life.html?_r=1&hp&pagewanted=all

It is definitely frustrating having your hard-earned vegetables snipped away by thieves (dismissive neighbor, you are wrong!).  I too have considered putting up a sign but as our garden is small and relatively new (2nd year) I don't want to take the aggressive route just yet.

A wrist brace due to a spot of carpel tunnel coming on is keeping me away from doing much weeding so it's still my mother dutifully watering the not-so-little ones on a daily basis.

Check out the bounty of perilla the tiny plot continues to yield:

We counted 160!  At least the perilla are left alone.  But that's because no one around here knows what they are or how to cook them.  That's just fine by me.  

School Pictures

I have this weird phobia about getting my picture taken.  I'm not going to get into it too much because it's difficult to explain and I'm tired.  Let's just say I don't like being in pictures.  I hate posing for them, I hate seeing myself in them.  All the time.  Even my own mother and close friends have admitted I am not photogenic.  "Um, yeah... you look better than this in real life..." they mutter.  I don't know what it is about me, every physical flaw (and there are a lot) seem to be magnified a hundred fold in pictures.  Or maybe I really do look like that.  But anyway.

I'm not sure when I started developing this phobia but I do recall when I was 10 or 11 I told my mother I didn't see the point to having these awful school portraits taken of me year after year.  I told her she could save money by not ordering them, and I wouldn't have to sit and pose for them.  I could just tell the photographer when he waved to me standing on line that it was my turn, "No thanks.  My parents aren't going to buy your pictures so I'm just going to go stand over there."  My mother's response was, "I need them to give the police if you get kidnapped."

After that, until I got to high school, year after year I dutifully sat on the stool and smiled a feeble smile, picturing the picture that was being taken at that moment in newspapers and fliers stuck to lamp posts.  "Have you seen this girl?" it would say.  I pictured the interior of the van that would whisk me away to some horrible dank location.  I imagined it rusty and cold and unlined.  I wondered what it felt like to be trapped inside the trunk of a car.  I once saw on an episode of Charlie's Angels where a clever woman was able to push through to the back seat after being thrown into a trunk.  I wondered if I could do that.  I wondered if they would duct tape my mouth, or if they would use a strip of cloth.  Would I be able to find a way to cut through the rope while the baddies were eating dinner?  All these scenarios of what I knew kidnapping to be from watching tv ran through my head as the photographer peered through his camera and told me to smile.

It is with this in mind that I snapped these photos of my baby cucumbers this morning.  We noticed that now the culprit is stealing them younger and younger, catching on to the fact that my mother is snipping them before they get a chance to fully mature and, of course, be stolen.  (This is another reason I don't buy my neighbor's "critter" explanation - btw the cukes in the next plot are doing just fine so don't give me that.)  "Have you seen these cucumbers?" is not something I can ask after the asshole steals them.  It really, really sucks that we have such lovely promising things in my tiny plot and after all that hard work we (my mother) put into it, some fucking asshole has to take them.

Thievery

Every time there is a promising cucumber that will be perfect for the picking in another day, it's gone before it has a chance.  This was the case last year with my eggplants.

There's a plot next to mine that's also growing cukes but don't have theirs climbing sticks - theirs are just on the ground, growing in weird shapes.  They seem to be left alone.  All of mine that are the best and visible get snipped away.  Frustrated, I wrote a post on my gardening club's message board asking if anyone else experienced vegetable theft.  I said I hate to think it but it's either that or those squirrels are damn good with scissors.

The one reply I got was short and dismissive.  The writer said I'd be surprised how razor sharp claws are and how critters dug up someone else's bulbs so cleanly that it looked like a human did it with a trowel.  Oh really?  I didn't know critters could weed too.  Let me explain.

The weed situation is out of control in my corner of the garden.  We weeded diligently in the beginning but my mother realized she should leave it alone because the tall weeds on the side of the cucumbers worked as camouflage and hid the good cucumbers growing.  For a while it was working, until one day she noticed someone had cleared all the weeds on that side of the garden and also helped themselves to the best of my cucumbers.  The dismissive lady's suggestion: "I don't know what to tell you except look into wire netting?"  Yeah right.

In other news, I'm wondering if I should move this blog to Posterous.  It seems easier to maintain and I hate the fact that I am no longer able to post photos easily as I once had through flickr.  Now if I want to post a photo I have to use Picasa and it sucks.  Why did flickr get rid of its jpg link?  I don't know what the technical term for it is but it no longer lets me post photos here directly from it.  Since I'm on a different computer and don't have the photos on my hard drive, I have to download it from flickr then upload to Picasa then download it here.  Ugh.  It's so inconvenient.  Posterous, here I come.  Maybe.  I have to look into it more.

Tiny Plot's Bounty in Action

What's the fun in gardening if I can't enjoy the fruits of my labor?  Flowers are pretty to look at but I'm more interested in eating the effort.  Since I don't have a balcony or a back yard in which I can grill delicious beef ribs, I broiled some of my mother's excellent galbi and used the perilla, mint, and lettuce from the tiny plot to eat ssam.  That's ssam as in farm, not ssam as in ham.

Ironic then, that today came about trying to be free from these people:




Meat still sizzling:

Mint just picked, piled high above baby lettuce:

Basil bounty, washed and just before being turned into pesto:

Excess mint means Moroccan mint tea.  Refreshing.

New Plot, New Plantings

This post is long overdue.  But before I go on about all the lovely things growing in my tiny plot, I just want to give a bit what-up to Jeff.  He really helped me out tons earlier this year by weeding my new plot and getting rid of all the broken glass, brick pieces, and rocks.  He grabbed a hoe (not that kind) from the communal gardening tools area and really got to work turning the soil over and mixing in the organic fertilizer and rich gardening soil.  The way he approached this task, with so much focus and determination, actually scared me a little.  Thank you Jeff.  I hope you'll let me make you a salad one day.

Remember when it looked like this?

It's not like I only just started planting.  Actually, the plot is flourishing quite nicely right now.  I kick myself for not having snapped pictures after planting the seedlings.  Since planting, today was actually the first time I stepped foot in the garden!  Why?  Because I started a new job in April and it's been taking up all my time.  Yes, I'd like to be a well-rounded person.  Yes, I'd like to use my time more efficiently so I can pursue personal passions.  Yes, I'd like to find ways to relax other than eating a big bowl of carbs while watching You Tube then falling asleep.

So I have to do another shout-out (is that what the kids are still saying these days?) to my mom who's been completely devoted to my tiny plot.  She's the one who scoured the neighborhood for discarded sticks so the cucumbers have something to climb.  She's been religiously watering the little ones, pruning, weeding.  Today she asked me for an unused makeup brush so she can help the bees and other insects along by pollinating Gregor Mendel-style.  My mother takes great pleasure in our co-op garden, but she especially loves the satisfaction of eating her hard work.

Case in point:

This was an improvised gimbap made with perilla and cinnamon basil (RIP cinnamon basil - more on that later) she used after we had ingredients left over from making Jade some vegan gimbap for her restaurant.  This has pickled daikon, sauteed carrots, egg, and perilla.  Delicious.

The new plot gets about 40% more sun than the last one.  That combined with the hard work Jeff and I put in turning the soil and adding good fertilizer really makes a difference.  See it now:

On the other side of the fence is the composting area.  I helped out making some of the bins last year, before the hand surgery.  I used a bit of the compost when my mother and I planted the seedlings.

The seedlings.  That brings me to the darker side of this gardening club.  Another reason I kick myself for not having taking pictures is that there's been some theft.  Had there been thievery in other plots I'd venture to guess there's be quite a bit of email uproar.  But I haven't seen any.  How do I know it's human and not critter?  The neatness in which my lettuce were so delicately plucked from the earth.  But no matter.  I'm just glad no one stole the first cuke of the season, like the way my baby eggplants would constantly disappear last year.  Here it is:

I was so delighted!  I snipped it off and took it home, washed it, and ate it.  Not bitter at all and the skin was tender enough that I didn't have to peel it.

Here's some gorgeous purple basil I picked up at the Union Square farmers' market:

I'd like them to be doing as well as the Italian variety:

They are so tall and bountiful!  I see a lot of pesto in my future.  A word about my poor cinnamon basil.  I got them along with the other varieties of basil from the farmers' market.  I've never seen or tasted cinnamon basil before but they really do have the distinct fragrance of cinnamon.  Unfortunately, they look a lot like the weeds propagating in abundance along the edges of the plots.  Along came my overzealous mother out to destroy the weeds and, well, you get the idea.  No matter, I'll get more another time.

To make up for the lack of posts documenting my little ones' growth, here are a lot of pics I took this morning.

Jennie's mint.  They survived the bad location, the uprooting, and the winter.  These guys are tough.

Potato leaves.  When my mother and I started planting the seedlings, we found a small potato.  We decided to plant it to see what happens.  This is what happened.

The cucumbers doing very well.  My mother scoured the neighborhood for discarded by sturdy rods to give something for them to climb.

Tall basil and tall perilla.

Perilla in the sun.

Basil, perilla, lettuce.

Future pickles.

The Snuggery

Recently I had this idea of naming my apartment.  Those who know me know I watch far more British programs (or programmes) than I ought and I took a liking to the way people name their homes, e.g. The Willows, Dove Cottage in Wordsworth's case, you get the idea.  These of course bring to mind cozy houses decorated with lovely antiques and appropriate furniture with wisteria cascading down trellises and roses growing around the door frame.  City apartments with mismatched Ikea furniture, or even with sleek expensive modern ones are less likely to have names as they don't inspire much sentimentality.  However, the cheap furniture notwithstanding, I decided to name my humble little apartment, not so much with the expectation of others calling it anything other than 7C, but because to me it is very much a living thing with its own character.

To do this I thought of words to describe my place and put them in two categories: how it makes me feel when I am there, and what I would like it to represent to those who are invited in.  What I mean by the latter is that when I have a party or just have a friend or two over, I want my guests to experience Gemütlichkeit.  I do not have the best couch or the most comfortable chairs, nor do I have the greatest kitchen, but I still want people to feel they can relax and eat well.  Personally, I don't like going into a home and being intimidated by its pristineness that I feel I can't touch anything or move around much.

Of course, how I feel about my home is just as important so I started to cross off words like gracious and hospitable because that really comes from me and how I feel at the time.  I'm almost always welcoming but I don't know if I'm always gracious (I'm thinking about the time I had this party and I was up for more than 24 hours arranging everything and a few people showed up at 5am).  There's also the fact that the more I see other people's homes, the more I realize my living room is not furnished for gatherings and comfortable group chats, i.e. not much seating.

So how do I see my home?  Imperfect.  Flawed, but acceptable.  A little slovenly at times when I get lax with the housework but overall clean and organized to a certain extent (don't open some of the drawers!)  A bit minimal with mismatched but functional furniture.  On the plain side with little decoration.  In other words, me.  And it suits me fine.  I will not agonize over spills on furniture, either by me or anyone else.  I do not have sterile floors.  I did get a little upset when I noticed some of the paint cracking and chipping on the ceiling a few months ago but hey, this apartment was last painted eight years ago - there's gonna be some of that.  With the exception of the kitchen, most of my apartment is original from when it was built over 60 years ago and I don't mind the old fixtures so long as they work, which they do.

Do you know, I never feel lonely being alone at home?  Some people say they get antsy and they need to get out.  I don't know why being home alone doesn't bother me - it makes sense that it should but maybe I'm not that social.  Being with fun people and talking to friends is very nice - I don't shun it completely - but when I'm at home I see plenty that need to be done rather than a state I need to get away from.  So although words like "refuge" and "sanctuary" are appropriate, I didn't want to use them because they sound as if I'm running away from something, which I'm not.  And they sound so unoriginal anyway.  Cozy is too obvious.  I thought about "The Agreeable" because this place just agrees with me.  It's not spectacular and it won't win any design awards but it suits my needs.  And then I thought it sounded a little too neutral and, let's face it, pretentious.  Anyway, I'm not neutral - I'm very fond of this rectangular box I live in.  So using the thesaurus, which I often do when I write, I looked up "hermitage" and words of that ilk and found "snuggery".

How appropriate that the perfect word (perfect sounding, too!) I'd been looking for is British.  A snug place or position.  A comfortable or cozy room.  This is it.  This is Apartment 7C.  C for cozy!  Welcome to The Snuggery.  Won't you please join me for tea and scones at The Snuggery this afternoon?  This Saturday I'll be hosting a wine tasting at The Snuggery.  You are invited to my party at The Snuggery!  I love it.

Ah, Spring

Ah, spring is in the air.  Damn.  I dread this time of year, always.  True to my contrarian nature, I dislike what most people describe as "beautiful weather."  Sun + heat = blech.  Why?  Just a few reasons: my fondness for black, a horrible sun allergy, a horrible everything else allergy, squinting at blinding sunshine, higher risk of skin cancer, sticky sunblock slathered on to reduce said higher risk of skin cancer, something more than mere modesty preventing me from blithely prancing around in tank tops and shorts in pastel colors, and finally, the looming uncomfortable humidity of another sweltering city summer just around the corner.  And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

But what about your new tiny plot, the two of you reading this may ask.  Looking at it from my bedroom window I noticed that my neighbors have fenced off their area, probably venturing a few precious inches into mine.  Had I been proactive about it, I suppose I could have pre-empted their taking liberties early on, thus preventing me from gardening in what amounts to land the size of a postage stamp.  My enthusiasm has waned a little for me to go bounding into the garden with my trowel.  I haven't even given much consideration to what I want to plant this year.

Another reason for my reluctance is fear... well, more anxiety really.  Last year before it got really cold, I removed the strawberries and chives from their wine boxes and planted them in the ground.  Although the boxes were in terrible shape, I thought I might have further use for them and left them stacked upside down in the middle of my otherwise empty plot.  The last winter was the snowiest and windiest we've had here in years and the boxes were a bit tossed about and I never bothered to throw them out or restack them.  Now I'm dreading turning them over and finding a family of squirrels or worse, rats.  Although I suppose I would have heard from my all too vocal neighbors had that happened.

To end this post on a positive note, here's a lovely poem from one of my favorites, Robert Browning.  I echo the first two lines - whether it's April or not.

O, TO be in England
Now that April 's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf	5
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England—now!
And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!	10
Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—
That 's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture	15
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!	20