Late summer—it just creeps up on a person. By August, a community garden can appear to be one continuous mass of vegetation, no matter that many separate plots actually compose it. The edges of my garden plot disappear into those of my neighbors. I want to take pictures to remember what summer 2015 looked like—and to prove that this garden a few blocks from Times Square is real—but I am a tiny bit miffed at the results. My photos don’t seem to show my garden alone, but everyone’s, all 100-plus plots. Hey! What about the plants I planted? The stone path I made that ends so invitingly in a stone step, just right for a child to sit on and draw while I deadhead flowers?
Oh, well, you can’t really see those details in my photos right now. But you can see some interesting things happening. There are the zinnias, of course, which in their combined toughness and brilliance assert themselves as the unplanned garden centerpiece. And right before them, at the plot’s edge are garlic chives growing out of craggy spaces between the rocks that form the garden’s mini-wall. They are one-half the season’s allium bookends, the first being the purple globe alliums of spring. I’m very fond of the white wraps that enclose the soon-to-burst out umbels of white flowers. They remind me of toe shoes. I recently read that these buds make an excellent flavoring in a Vietnamese broth (stay tuned for a post on this project). To the left are columbines, also lovers of the crag, and behind them the lacy fronds of an herb fennel plant, which contributes yellow umbels and the scent of licorice. Beneath the scrubby zinnia leaves is a trio of beet plants and to their left a petting zoo of lamb’s ears. Forming the plot’s back border are a miniature red rose bush intertwined with iris, raspberry canes, apple mint, sage, and two kinds of tomatoes, zebra and sweet 100’s. Completely out of sight are rue, a clump of bird-bill dayflowers, and a patch of arugula growing at the very limit of the garden. I almost forgot the vitex to the right. I tried to discourage it, but it’s back and feeding honeybees.