Lessons Learned From A 9/11 Survivor

/ Kevin / 304 Comments

September 8th was Joe’s birthday, and we headed into NYC to celebrate.  We did the same thing eleven years ago, and on that particular day, the air had the first hints of autumn crispness. We commented all day how especially blue the sky appeared, and how clearly we could see all of the buildings.

Three days later, the world changed – and now, September 11 is a day that still haunts me.  Like so many other people, I have clear memories of where I was and what I was doing — as clear as the sky that day.  I remember conversations that I had and every single emotion of every single second.

Eleven years ago, I was working in a middle school – and while I do not want to go into all of my details that day, there is one moment that I cannot forget.

As the tragedy unfolded, parents arrived in a steady stream.  I was helping in the Main Office, signing their children out of school.  Many of adults had spouses working in downtown Manhattan.  One mother arrived and asked for her son.

“I’m not taking him home,” she said as I looked up her son’s schedule.  “I just want to hug him.”  I caught my breath, my eyes blinking away tears as I focused on the computer screen.  When I returned with her son, they stood in the hallway and just were.  It was an intimate moment between a parent and child, consoling and comforting – and it is a moment that still moves me to tears whenever I think or speak about that day.

The Freedom Tower

Eleven years later, Joe and I are at the site.  Each time we have made this visit, at different stages of redevelopment, I feel I have to brace myself.  I think of that mother and her son, of so many victims and their families and friends, and I think of Kevin Donnelly, a man who hired the middle school me to mow lawns one summer.

Today, the 9/11 Memorial occupies Ground Zero.  Two pools now sit in the Twin Towers’ imprint.  The pools, surrounded by thirty-foot walls of cascading water, eventually descend into a center void.  The bronze rims of the pools are engraved with the names of the victims.

Although the area is surrounded by the sights and sounds of rebuilding, it is amazingly quiet and somber and moving.  It is not uncommon to see people placing flowers on the rim, carbon rubbing a specific name, praying and consoling each other – just like a mother and a son from eleven years ago.

That’s where my mind was when I noticed the tree.  Adjacent to the pools is a garden where all of the trees are Swamp White Oaks – all, except for this one tree; a Callery Pear Tree that is protected by a railing, where visitors line up and pose for pictures, as if this particular tree is a celebrity.

This is The Survivor Tree.

The tree was originally planted on the World Trade Center plaza, on the eastern edge near Church Street, in the ‘70s.  After 9/11, workers found the damaged tree – reduced to an eight-foot-tall stump in the wreckage at Ground Zero.

The tree was removed to a NYC park, where it was nursed back to health.  New branches sprouted, blossoms opened in spring, and the tree eventually reached 30 feet.  In March 2010, however, the tree was uprooted by severe storms – but it still survived with the help of its caretakers and its will, if we could think that a tree has a will.

In December 2010, the tree was returned to the WTC site, where it sits just west of the south pool – a symbol of strength and resilience.  It’s no wonder that so many people wait in line to be photographed next to the tree.  Sometimes we all need a tree – or a parent, a partner, a friend, a stranger – on which to lean, much like we all did on 9/12 and the weeks, months, and years following.

The rebuilt Palm Court.

The more I think about that tree, the more impressed I am.  It fought to live so that we – regardless of our gender, sexual orientation, race, religion, ethnicity, ability, and political views – could enjoy its shade, appreciate its blooms, and find comfort in its hug and wisdom in its story.  It’s unconditional – just being, like that mother and son embracing each other in a school hallway eleven years ago.

And yet, there is still no museum at the site – because of bickering over funding.  Yes, years of bickering.  While I personally do not need a museum to remind me of that day, I know that there are many young people who were too young or not even born to understand the events of 9/11.  On a similar note, this is an election year in the United States, and both parties are going to great lengths to widen the rift between their constituents.

Yes, September 8th was Joe’s birthday and we headed into NYC to celebrate.  We did the same thing eleven years ago, and three days later, the world changed — but have people changed?

Perhaps we should let that Survivor Tree be our teacher.  There’s so much we could learn from it – we just have to be willing to listen.

Update: Last night, on the eve of September 11, it was reported that the mayor of NYC and the governors of NY and NJ had reached an agreement on the museum.  Construction is scheduled to resume, with a completion goal of September 11, 2013.

A Labor Of Love — Lost

/ Kevin / 34 Comments

It’s Labor Day weekend – a time tailor-made for beaches, barbecues, parades, and speeches.  But on this particular holiday, I’m staring at the remains of a small, neighborhood garden center on Long Island.

I’m not sure exactly what happened here.  Did the owner retire, unable to sell the business?  Did some sort of illness interfere?  Was the small nursery unable to compete against the box stores that sprout like weeds?  Or perhaps, this nursery is just another victim of an economy that has failed to thrive?

It’s amazing how quickly the weeds and wildflowers have turned this once manicured plot into an overgrown prairie.  Slowly, however, it gives up its secrets.

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Breaking Up With August Is Hard To Do

/ Kevin / 38 Comments

Hi, August.  It’s me.

Listen, I’m not going to beat around the bush on this one.  I’m just going to dive in and let you know . . .

It’s over between us.  I know I waited until the end of your days to tell you this, but I was really hoping you and I could have worked things out – maybe come to some sort of agreement on the nature of our relationship.  That seems to be out of the question now.

Each year, I hope to look forward to your arrival, but you are very skilled at trying my patience – and as quickly as my expectations rise, you find every opportunity to walk all over them.

Take my impatiens.  Please.  When I first saw that they weren’t thriving, that their stems were barren of leaves, I blamed myself (not enough water).  Then I blamed the slugs (they had to be munching all night).  And then I learned about the fungus.  Maybe you didn’t create the fungus, but your heat, humidity, and rain games certainly didn’t help.

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Elephant Ear Gives Birth — LIVE!

/ Kevin / 35 Comments

A close-up of one of one of the original Elephant Ears in the garden.

This post has been a long time in the making – months, as a matter of fact.

At the start of the growing season, I was strolling through one of the big box stores and found a corm for a red/purple/black leafed variety.  I had seen this same plant in many of the seed catalogs – but in this store, the price was more than right.  It was an elephant-sized bargain.

Once the plant began to grow, however, the only thing true about the advertised color was the stems – strong and purplish black.  The leaves, on the other hand, were greener (and smaller, by the way) – not the same bright green as my other Elephant Ears, but green with hints of darker tones.  In other words, they weren’t the red/purple/black on the packaging.

A close-up of the new arrival. It may not be as green as the original, but it still has its charms.

Although slightly disappointed with the result, I soon found myself drawn to my new plant, especially the glossiness of the leaves.  They were so shiny, in fact, that they looked fake, as if they stepped right off of the Munchkinland set in The Wizard of Oz.

And then I witnessed the miracle of an Elephant Ear leaf birth – the agonizingly slow unfurling of a new leaf emerging from the purple/black stem.

Over the next few weeks, I stood in the same spot to document the debut – like a proud papa tapping on the nursery window.

Weeks since it first emerged from the stem, the leaf is still stretching and growing to to its full size.  Whoever said they grow so fast these days, never had an Elephant Ear.

Happy gardening!

A Hummer Of A Summer Day

/ Kevin / 40 Comments

Photo courtesy of The Baiting Hollow Hummingbird Sanctuary

I don’t think I’m too far off when I say that most people are fascinated by hummingbirds.  Delicate yet swift, they confound gardeners, bird watchers, and photographers alike – all of whom wait patiently for one to appear.  And when one does, an excited whisper passes through the crowd, as if Beyonce has just walked up to the feeder.

“Oh, there she is.  She’s right there.  Oh, look at her . . .” Then, as quickly as a hummingbird appears, it zips away.

I haven’t seen a hummingbird since I was a child, but that certainly hasn’t dampened my fascination.  So when my friend Michele suggested a field trip to the Baiting Hollow Hummingbird Sanctuary, I jumped at the chance.  Would I see one?  Would I even be able to snap a picture?

Located on a bluff overlooking Long Island Sound, the Sanctuary is more than a labor of love for its founder, Paul Adams.  It is a passion.  His three-and-a-half acre garden is, at first glance, in a natural state – filled with native trees that provide perches and nest building materials for his guests of honor, hummingbirds that migrate from Mexico and Central America.

Then, all around, are splashes of sweet nectar and color, thanks to butterfly bushes, salvias, cardinal flowers, trumpet vines, honeysuckle, and a selection of tropical flowers to make the hummingbirds feel more at home.

There is a small, tree-shaded area for parking and, fortunately, I listened to Michele about wearing a good pair of walking shoes.  The ground is uneven, and there are some crudely built steps to help visitors negotiate the ups and downs of the garden.  And be sure to mind the hand-painted signs – all of which are there to help you safely explore.

The first stop for Michele, me, and two other friends, Jeannie and James, was a hollow, accessible by a tighly packed dirt steps.

At the bottom, a large sign reminded us to be quiet – and it was like entering a church.  We were dwarfed by walls of butterfly bushes, accented with the stained glass hues of butterfly wings.

We then strolled under a canopy of wild cherry, oak, and beech trees, all the time keeping our eyes glued to the various feeders, hoping to catch a glimpse of a hummingbird.  My hands gripped the camera.

Eventually, we made it to the cottages, one of the most peaceful locations on the property.  Here, visitors sat patiently in Adirondack chairs, cameras in hand, waiting for a hummingbird to arrive by a feeder or to enjoy the nectar from any of their favorite flowers.

Behind the cottage closest to the bluff, there was an amazing view of Long Island Sound and the steady buzz of bees.  A hummingbird made a quick appearance, but then flew away faster than I could say, “Hum.”

We ultimately returned to the garden between the two cottages, one of which is where Mr. Adams spends his summer months.  The rest of the year, he’s a professor of neuroscience at Stony Brook University, on Long Island.  On this visit, we were his pupils, as he taught us about the life and habits of hummingbirds.  Then, in midsentence, he said, “There’s one at the feeder now.”

Every head turned and there was the collective whisper of awe.  Instinctively, I snapped a photo.  There was no time to zoom and I hoped the digital camera would be able to focus faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

At some point, I began to wonder if the hummingbirds were playing with all of us.  It’s as if they knew we were waiting to capture their image, and when they saw all of the cameras take aim, off they flew.  One even hovered above the deck where Mr. Adams was speaking to us, but as the cameras were lifted, so too did the hummingbird.  Gone.

Just as I was about to pack up the camera, one hummingbird seemed to feel sorry for us and sat on a branch, preening and posing itself.

And I had my close up.  At last.

Not only is it remarkable to have seen a hummingbird in the wild, it’s an inspiration to meet a man so passionate about his love that he is willing to share it with the public for free.  Yes, you read that correctly.  The Sanctuary has no admission fee.  In fact, Mr. Adams will not even accept a monetary donation (his website encourages donations to other specified organizations), although sturdy old chairs and plants are always welcome.

The Sanctuary is only open in August.  For more information about the species, the Sanctuary, the battle to protect it from development, starting your own hummingbird-friendly garden, as well as days and hours of operation, please visit either the website or blog.

Bloomin’ Update 32: Lost In The Planting Fields

/ Kevin / 33 Comments

Anthurium

Gardening is a gift that keeps on giving – and this is especially true of the Planting Fields Arboretum, a jewel of a gift on Long Island’s Gold Coast.

William Robertson Coe, who made his fortune in marine insurance, built the mansion in 1921 in the style of a 16th century Elizabethan country home – but it’s the park-like 409-acre estate, designed by the Olmsted brothers, that brings gardening enthusiasts, walkers, brides, and myself back in time.

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Book Review: Vegetables (A Biography)

/ Kevin / 18 Comments

I love my veggies.  I love them raw, steamed, roasted, grilled, sautéed and pureed.  I just don’t grow them.  In fact, other than the rare bonus packet of tomato seeds that comes with my annual seed order, I avoid growing vegetables.  There, I’ve said it.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love the idea of growing and harvesting my own food, and the whole locavore movement (although I do have issues with the word.  I think it sounds like “crazy eater.”) — it’s just that I’m more in love with the idea than the actual task.  And the sad part is, I know I’m missing out on something.  On many things.

Part of my aversion comes from the multitude of garden pests.  I know what they can do just in my flower garden – and squirrels have been known to push me over the edge.  I just don’t think I could handle a) the vigilantism of protecting my food from varmints and b) the disappointment of seeing my dinner on someone else’s plate.

I also feel that with vegetables, it’s either feast or famine – and both are ill-timed.  When I’ve tried to grow tomatoes in the past, there were very few for summer salads.  Instead, they all arrived at once at the end of the season – and let’s not forget the brown bags full of green tomatoes and an apple to help them ripen.  The same goes for strawberry.  Yes, strawberry – because that’s about all I was able to enjoy as a freshly picked dessert and I know I’m not alone.  Here is some proof from Tidy Gardens by Jane.

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Field Trip: Brooklyn In A Box — And On A Bridge

/ Kevin / 31 Comments

If you should ever find yourself visiting Brooklyn, do yourselves a favor and walk — down boutique and café-lined avenues, tree-shaded streets and, by all means, across one of New York City’s most beloved landmarks, the Brooklyn Bridge.  The bridge, which links the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn for walkers, bikers and drivers, was, at its opening in 1883, the world’s longest suspension bridge.  Its location provides visitors with spectacular views of the NY skyline. 

Looking from the bridge toward downtown Manhattan. The buildings under construction (just behind the cables) are part of the World Trade Center site. The one on the right (with two cranes on top in a V-shape) is the Freedom Tower.

While there are many people who jog and bike across the bridge, I prefer a slow stroll along the pedestrian promenade.

Visitors insist on leaving their mark. Rather than vandalizing the bridge, they now lock their messages to the bridge.

International visitors also join in.

As you face Manhattan and look right, you can get a view of the Empire State Building.

Look left, and it’s the Statue of Liberty.

Arriving on the Brooklyn side of the bridge, you will be in Brooklyn Heights.  Here is a chance to wander off the main thoroughfare and get lost among the smaller streets and their dazzling show of window boxes.

When it comes to planting in pots or window boxes, I tend to keep the same plant in its own pot – and then group the various pots.  I never mix and match in the same pot – more out of a lack of confidence and fear that I will end up with a mismatched jungle.  Yes, window box planting is a skill of which I am truly in awe, and I am completely surprised by the variety that these Brooklynites have on display. 

There are grasses.

And tropicals.

And ferns.

And boxwoods.

And colorful foliage.

And urns.

And an “A” for effort.

And an entrance that takes my breath away.

Clearly, all of this walking burns a lot of calories — but this is Brooklyn, one of the best boroughs in which to replenish those calories.  Although I didn’t take photos of our food, here is what and where Joe and I ate.

Lunch: Totonno’s in Coney Island for some thin-crusted pizza.  It’s a small place and certainly not fancy — but it is one of the pizza parlors that is always touted as the best among pizza afficionados.  You cannot order by the slice, so Joe and I ate a small pie — that’s four slices each and that kept us quite full.

Dinner: Still full from lunch, we opted for a small bite at Dellarocco’s in Brooklyn Heights.  An order of meatballs was perfect — but the tables around us were overflowing with pizzas and calzones.  Delicious!

Dessert:  Yes, there is always room for dessert — so we returned to Joe’s childhood neighborhood for some spumoni, which is an Italian ice cream, at L&B Spumoni Gardens.  YUM!

Yes, this was definitely a day worthy of an all-capital YUM.

Field Trip: A Greenhouse Hopes To Grow In Brooklyn

/ Kevin / 19 Comments

There is nothing quite like humidity in New York.  With its density and weight, it has a presence – and it likes to make its presence known, often making the blacktop-enhanced summertime heat seem that much more oppressive. 

And that kind of weather is perfect for a car-subway-walk field trip.  The idea was inspired by a recent article in the New York Times which focused on the Greenwood Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn, and its historic cemetery.

Situated on 478 acres, Green-Wood Cemetery was founded in the 1830s and is now the final resting place for more than 550,000 souls: politicians, soldiers, actors, dancers, freed slaves, designers, and journalists among them.  At one point in the 1850s, the cemetery, with path after path named after plants, even rivaled Niagara Falls as a tourist destination.

On this very hot and very humid day, there are few visitors approaching the ornate gateway.  The sedum in the iron birdbath seems to enjoy the heat, but the big-leafed coleus is much more content in the shade of the enormous archway.

The only noise is the squawks from above.  The bird call sounds familiar but out of place in Brooklyn – but there, nesting in the center spire of the gate, is a flock of parrots.

Just across from the cemetery’s main entrance are the remains of a wood-and-glass greenhouse. 

The greenhouse once belonged to James Weir, Jr., who had also built more than 20 other greenhouses and nurseries throughout Brooklyn.  In 1971, the McGovern family, also in the florist industry, bought the property.

Over the decades, the greenhouse, now considered a landmark as the only Victorian-era greenhouse still standing in New York, has fallen into disrepair, with peeling paint, rotting wood, crumbling foundations, and missing and broken panes of glass.  A year ago, however, Green-Wood cemetery purchased the greenhouse and is in the process of turning it into a visitors’ center.  And so, this relic now sits behind security gates, waiting to be reborn.

I’m not sure how long this agave has been here, but I like to think that as I look through the hazy glass, I am looking at the ghost of a plant from long ago.

Next Post: The Brooklyn walking tour continues with views from the bridge and a parade of window boxes.

  

 

What Not To Tell The Kids

/ Kevin / 46 Comments

I’m the first to admit it.  There’s a lot about gardening that I don’t know – so much so that I can’t even pretend.  What I do know, I have been able to gather from books, conversations, television shows, and, now, from fellow garden bloggers and reader comments.

None of this, though, is enough to stop me from the seasonal shake of my head when I pass some gardens and non-gardens and wonder, “What were they thinking — or not thinking, as the case may be?”  And once that ball gets rolling, my list of garden pet peeves gets longer and I can’t help but imagine the conversations that might be happening.

“Mommy, where does mulch come from?”

“Well, dear, deep in the center of the earth there is a hot core of molten mulch.  And each spring, as the air gets warmer, the molten mulch moves toward the surface – usually around the base of trees because their roots have punctured the mulch bubble.  Then, mulch pours from the ground around the tree, piling up higher and higher as it cools.”

So that would explain it – because I can’t think of any other reason to explain the appearance of cone-shaped mulch volcanoes that pop up each spring on residential and commercial properties alike.

I have always been of the mindset that mulch is good.  It’s decorative and practical, as it helps to keep roots cool in summer and warm in winter, as well as limiting weed growth and aiding in the soil’s moisture retention – but too much of a good thing can be bad.  Mulch that is too deep can have a negative effect on a tree’s bark and root functioning, and, therefore, on its overall health. 

Grab your rakes, America.  It’s time to save countless gardens and yards from these devastating mulch flows.

“Daddy, where does seedless watermelon come from?”

“Well, honey, um. . . . .”

Exactly.

When did “seed” become an ugly word?  The seeds are part of the fun that comes from eating a watermelon – that’s why spitting was invented.  The rest of the fun comes from the rich color and the sweet juice that I remember dribbling down my chin and onto my t-shirt.

Seedless is even used as part of the advertisement.  It says, “See how convenient I am.  No seeds here to take up your time.”  Now we have a generation that actually thinks seedless is a good thing. 

Maybe it’s me.  Maybe I just haven’t been fortunate enough to actually eat a delicious seedless watermelon – and I’m done trying.  Each time I sample some, I feel as if something is missing – more than just seeds.  When I finish eating a slice and look at my seedless plate, I start missing the way watermelon used to be – and, for that matter, how so many other things used to be.

Yes, in our quest to go seedless, we have lost something.  Color.  Flavor.  And a childhood memory.

Where, oh where, has my watermelon gone?  Oh, where, oh where can it be?

“Mommy, why are our flowers melting?”

“Not now, sweetheart.  Just eat your seedless watermelon so we can go watch daddy and his mulch volcano.”

If I remember my high school biology, plastic is not organic and so it cannot reproduce – and yet, more and more plastic flowers are appearing in gardens, window boxes, and flower pot displays.  Even the anole in the above photo looks perplexed — or at least as perplexed as an anole can look.  In fact, I have even turned it into a bit of a game – I spy. . . plastic tulips in the privet hedge.

Is there ever a good excuse for using plastic flowers in the landscape?  Maybe it has to do with conserving water – you know, using plastic for greener living.  Or, maybe it has to do with finding the perfect flower strong enough to withstand summer’s heat and/or winter’s cold – but at some point, even plastic daffodils need a rest. 

My fellow gardeners, we must put a stop to these plastic pushers.  If not, I fear we are witnessing the dawn of a new invasive species – one that cannot be composted away. 

And now that I’ve gotten all this off my chest, I’m gazing upon a fourth peeve: the naked yard.  One of my neighbors has nothing planted , and I can only imagine how they explain that to the kids.  Hmmmm.