Migration

 66 Square Feet from Sam and Sara's roof

I have never left the terrace in spring.

 Abraham Darby

But we are going far, far, away. To late autumn and early winter.

 Chives and sage

I am very excited, but also a bit sad.

Catnip, chives, bulbine, calamintha, sage 

Our kitty is doing very well, frisky and eating and ready to party. 

Iceberg

So are the roses.

New Dawn

See you in South Africa.

The Henry Street townhouses are beginning to smell

The flipside of roses is sewage.

Of course.

For a couple of weeks there has been a terrible smell at street level in front of our building - human waste, without a doubt. My months in Prospect Park's Midwood forest taught me that smell pretty quickly.

Some days are worse than others.  At first I thought it was a homeless person using our trash cans as a toilet. Then two days ago a lady pushing a shopping cart past exclaimed, Who died here??? Very good Brooklyn accent. And I realized the smell traveled farther than I had imagined.

Today, on the sidewalk, after taking photos of the rose-encircled terrace from our neighbours, Sam and Sara's roof, I met our other, next door neighbours, emerging from Raccoon House. They sniffed the air and said, Did something die here?

But it's not the smell of death.

It's kaka, as the cat would say (he cannot be reformed, I have tried).

We sniffed collectively and our noses led us to the big metal plate in the street, covering yet another hole that has been dug on behalf of the three new townhouses across the street. Every manner of line has been laid to them, with the whole block being shut down for a day at a time, and suddenly the penny dropped.

Sewers.

30 April 2013

The street on this block now looks like a Third World highway. Patched and rutted and violated by repeated incursions beneath its surface. Scar lines of fresh, uneven tar cross it at right angles where trenches have been cut from one sidewalk to the other. A flimsy wooden cage appeared around the base of the central street oak a couple of days after my long post about the construction's progress. The cage appeared a year-and-half after construction started. A bit late. And the tree that I think is being killed is the one at the end, which suffered a trench slicing right through its roots.

The noise? That doesn't bother me in the same way. Yes, it's loud, but construction is inevitable in the city; there is going to be noise. Unavoidable. But sloppy, dangerous work gets my goat.

B-a-a-a-a-a-a!

I've seen a lot of construction, and have worked on construction sites. I have a friend who works at street level, laying sidewalks and operating heavy machinery. He has permits and safety precautions up the whazoo. Because otherwise he gets fined for safety violations.  But the developers across the road delivered dozens of I-beams to the site without even closing the sidewalk. Have you seen an I-beam? Beyond illegal. People (not very bright, admittedly) were literally walking beneath as the multi-ton beams swung overhead. The sidewalk was wide open. Heavy earth moving machinery has ridden up onto both sidewalks, with no precautions taken. Then came the airconditioning units.

The EPA has been in the street on more than one occasion, for water main breaks. We've been without water several times, and when it comes back it's loaded with silt.

How does this continue? Is this project subject to a massive number of fines, or is someone's palm being heavily, and repeatedly, greased?

Or are they just lucky?

Parting gifts

The roses are being kind to me, blooming before we leave. More of the red Munstead Wood are opening and the Abraham Darby has begun, too (including the sick one I moved to the roof a year ago, for what I thought would be a month or two before it succumbed to die back, but it refused to die and is covered in buds).

After yesterday's heat (and airconditioning) the city is wrapped in a cool mist, which will prolong the life of these richly-scented blooms. In the heat of summer their size will diminish and they will gasp out in a day.

But every rose loves May.

Late spring dessert

Cut up strawberries.

Put them in a glass.

Sprinkle superfluous sugar over them.

Top up with that's left of your rosé.

Gardens in the mist

The Brooklyn Botanic Garden, yesterday.

Between the irises, wisteria and Spanish bluebells, it smelled pretty good.

Despite the low cloud and precipitation, I did not use the umbrella I was carrying, and arrived home pleasantly damp.

I did nibble a wisteria flower (flowers edible, pods toxic). Pleasant enough.

But nicer to look at.

And I'll leave it, there, hanging preposition, and all.

The bluebell wood

We were enveloped in low cloud, today. Persistent, gentle moisture. Because of it, the BBG decided to cancel the foraging walk I was to have led in the afternoon, and, despite having looked forward to it, it was a bit of a relief. I hadn't had much sleep, and the prospect of a free afternoon was quite attractive. 

I was at leisure, after my morning class,  to stroll back to the subway in the May weather, carrying my bags, and my post-class relief, like a tired albatross around my neck. Not quite, but sort of. 

I met some really nice people, everyone seemed to enjoy the food, and there will be other walks, on other days. 

Now, I just need to not think so much, for a while. I can't wait to see home, my parents, Selina, Cape Town, the corgis (but no Ben - I miss him), the mountain outside our bedroom window, to being on the road, again, to having supper in the kitchen. To winter. I haven't seen a Cape winter since 1994, when I left. 

Back to Brooklyn , and the heart breaking blue. The garden was deserted. A pity - for the garden, not me- as the light is good on grey days and the mist so fine that everything sparkled. The bluebells are in their glory. I write about them, in my book, in May (Chapter Five!). I write about everything that has mattered to me, in this city. I needed to do that. To say thank you.

The bluebells will still be there on Tuesday (the garden is closed on Mondays), but not perfect for much longer. Go, soon.

I wonder what it would be like to lie in the middle of them?

And yes, they smell about as good as they look.

Chives on toast

A soggy day in Brooklyn town.

While not viewing the morning with alarm, exactly,  I do wonder if it won't be too soggy to walk in Prospect Park this afternoon. I baked serviceberry cookies for my walkers.

But my bags are packed - with goodies for my morning class - and the Frenchman will help me ferry them to the BBG. He was talking about cloudy days and bluebells earlier in the week so perhaps he'll hang around to take some pictures of those. They are in bloom and the overcast sky will make their colour pop.

Above? Fresh sheeps milk cheese from Hilltop Creamery (for whom I can find no web presence at all) on wholewheat toast,  with spring chives from the terrace.

Also good with field garlic leaves.