The Visa Diaries

Back in April, I got an email from my lovely neighbor Nick, asking what did I want to do with our common planters? Growing season was upon us, he pointed out, and the dead sea grass in there just wasn’t coming back. Simple and kindly as it was, this email made me want to curl up into the fetal position. I had been clinging to the idea that the sea grass would come back, and his note shattered my delusion. I liked the sea grass – it gave me a sort of Hampton-on-Brooklyn feel – but that wasn’t the real reason for my distress. The real reason for the little knot of panic was that I knew as little about gardening as I do about Arabic, and it seemed about as complicated. On top of a to-do list that was already on code red, adding on the project of learning about what to plant and how to care for it seemed too daunting to contemplate. I went outside, hoping in vain to see little green shoots in the straw brown mass of (clearly) dead grass. Alas there were none. The breath became quick and shallow in my throat.

My seed packets

Fast forward 2 months, and sappy as it sounds, it turns out that sometimes when you face your fears and take ownership of a situation, life really does spring up to meet you (literally in this case) in wonderful ways. Left with no choice, I decided that I would indeed take on the garden task, and a whole new world opened up to me. Problem No. 1 of the urban gardener, no car, was temporarily fixed the following weekend, when Matt and I had a car rented for another purpose. A Home Depot magically sprung up on our route, and I discovered to my delight a whole section not only full of plants of wondrous variety, but also big bags of dirt and even pots. Who knew?! One hour and $130 later, we had the beginnings of a respectable patio garden: a reddish tree that we thought was a Japanese Maple, but have since discovered is not, and still remains unidentified; several creeping Phlox fillers for the planter with bright purple flowers; and a spunky Persian Lilac. As we pulled the old grass and filled the box with rich new soil and blooming plants, I felt terribly earthy and rooted to Life, and I understood for the first time the appeal of dirt under my fingertips.

This exercise would have been enough to stave off garden guilt – my planters were full of living vegetable matter. However, a funny thing happened: I kept going. I got some Clymatis vines for the roof; the Brooklyn Botanic Garden had their annual plant sale, and I came home with a Violet, and a Jasmine, and an happy light green plant with little purple flowers, and an evergreen with pink flowers; my brother came to visit, and gave me hanging plant with bright pink flowers; while at the local hardware store, I picked up some seeds for Cosmos and Morning Glory, and I planted those; another time I got a Dahlia bulb, and put that in a pot too (upside down, I believe). I turned pots (so expensive!!) into an arts and crafts projects and now have an lovely, eclectic collection of multi-color spray-painted pots.

Each evening when I come home, I check in and water the plants. The slow steady progress is incredibly soothing and fulfilling. The plants that have come up from seed are especially thrilling, but even coaxing a bloom out of a pre-grown plant is pride-inducing. Hell, just keeping them alive makes me feel good. This all probably sounds like ‘duh’ to people who’ve been gardening for years, but hey, now I get it. Better late than never to the garden party?