An Amaryllis Grows in Brooklyn
April 21, 2009
Our former neighbor, Adie, gave us an amaryllis last spring. It bloomed shortly after she gave it to us, and it bloomed again in the fall. Adie was surprised at its second bloom. "I threw mine away after the first one," she said.
Personally, I have a hard time throwing plants away unless they are totally brown and crispy so the amaryllis sat in the window behind a few other plants through the winter where, other than a cursory watering now and then, it was completely ignored. But the other day I noticed it budding again. The secret life of plants. Hello spring.
Speaking of plants, the owners of the pizza place across the street are putting together a garden in the back of the restaurant. They share their backyard with an auto body repair shop, divided by a makeshift wall made out of old shipping containers. On one side of the containers is the auto body parking lot, filled with cars in various states of disrepair, and on the other side, is al fresco dining Brooklyn style. The garden is being built on top of the containers. I watched as six industrious youths shoveled dirt from a big pile in the middle of the parking lot into joint-compound buckets which were then raised to the shipping container’s roof by a rope. Several guys stood on top of the containers hauling up the buckets and spreading the dirt into several large custom made wooden planters.
Dennis Hopper's voice rang in my ear — the scene in Easy Rider when he and Peter Fonda are getting a tour of a commune in the middle of the desert. "They're not gonna make it, man," he says to Peter Fonda as they watch a bunch of hippies tossing seeds in the dust, “Nothings gonna grow here, they're not gonna make it."
In truth, I think the pizza garden will make it. I mean, at least plants will grow. And having eaten at the restaurant a few times, and knowing how sparingly they top their pizzas, I'm sure they'll be able to grow more than enough tomatoes and basil than they need. "—topped with homegrown tomato shavings and flecks of basil. $20.00"
Their youthful enthusiasm was touching and part of me wanted to run over there and lend a hand. But since New York City's sewage treatment plants turn out Grade A fertilizer sold up and down the east coast, I was content to know I was doing my part simply by flushing the toilet. Then again, if they're industrious enough to create a garden, they're probably going all out with their own compost pile. Should be a breeze around here. All you have to do is walk around the block and you'll have more than enough dog shit and banana peels.
All kidding aside, I think it's pretty awesome, and if we weren't moving at the end of the month, it'd be fun to watch from the window to see how the garden grows. I'll probably be able to read about it. After all, if nothing else, it's a good PR move. "Industrial Williamsburg Goes Green" and so on.
I wanted to take a photo of their enterprise, but the angle through my window wasn't that great and it was somewhat obscured by power lines so I took my camera and headed upstairs to the roof.
The roof was padlocked! I can't say I'm surprised. They probably should've locked it a long time ago — immediately after the "beer bottles in the sewage vents" fiasco, if not sooner — but it still pissed me off. After all, "roof access" was one of the dubious selling points for this apartment. Oh well, we never went up there much, anyway, and now that we're moving, who cares?
I walked to the store yesterday and counted 30 people along the way — there were a few in front of the pizza place, a group of five on the corner where a girl was selling used clothes, a dozen or more sitting on the benches in front of the coffee shop and deli, and another dozen just standing around talking to each other, some on bikes, some walking dogs. The area has come a long way since I first moved in, when a guy who moved in down the hall the same day I did, moved out two months later after being been held up at gunpoint a block away. Twice! These days I'm more concerned about getting knocked unconscious by a flying beer bottle tossed from somebody's roof.
Not for long, though. Come next month they'll have to find a new head to bean.
