Curbside Garden Diary: Week 3

Another week, another old lady and her granddaughter stopping by to admire and express how much they love my curbside garden. “Yah, yah…it’s majestic and unique. I know,” my eyes seem to say to them as a I pain to turn off the music with my grubby soiled hands.

Speaking of dirt, I vastly underestimated how much of it I would need. I could not be less enthused about carrying it, surprise surprise. By my calculations, Gertrude needs approximately 4-5 fucktons of dirt. I tried ordering it on Amazon, but that seems insane. It’s going to take at least 8 huge bags of Miracle Gro. Oh who am I kidding, Amazon it is!

So, it’s been three weeks, and finally the Cobble Hill Tree Fund Plant Sale has come to pass. Yes, I live in the fictional Gilmore Girls town. As I had already bought most of the required (and in many cases, extraneous) produce at the farmers market, there was little to procure. Still, I like Cobble Hill, and I like its plants, so I had to spend money.

And spend money I did! Somehow, $28 got me like seven plants, most of which were random flowers that looked purty. There was plenty of basil, and given last week’s planticide of the Thai basil, I had to find some more. Here’s what was added:

  • Chives (x4)
  • Oregano
  • Sweet basil
  • Lavender
  • Tarragon
  • Sage
  • Purple flowers (x8)…because I don’t learn names of plants you can’t eat

I can tell you what I did not find, and that was rosemary. How is it this hard, people? Obviously I’m going to need several rosemary plants because I’m expecting them to not only blossom into giant Ina Garten-level shrubs before the summer, but they are going to need to last until next year.

As I planted the new additions, an elderly Italian couple stopped by to compliment. By now, I was used to it, so I was slightly surprised by their tenuous approval. “Zucchini!?! You know that’s huge, right?” No bitch, I clearly did not know that. That’s why I planted them right next to the broccoli and heirloom tomatoes. “Oh really? Hmm, well I guess I’ll just have to see what works,” I replied. Why were people so skeptical? Was it the specific plants and arrangement I made with them, or was it the effort in general?

Sure, I imagined cars belching carcinogenic fumes into my asparagus fronds, and of course there would be feces and urine galore in the soil. But that wasn’t the point. This is a jardin urbain folks.


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