The Urban Garden

The aesthetic of the urban garden either enchants or repels, and nothing in between. The enchanted see life sprouting from nothingness. The repelled only see nothingness.

One cannot allow country coveting to conflict with one's inspired attempt to grow where nothing else grows.

Green vines slowly consume rusted remains and shroud walls that divide the land.

A weed shouldn't be capitally punished for having so much energy. Our weeds are glorious fighters that must be perpetually subdued to allow for more docile existences.

In this changing city, the urban garden's ancient cycle is sacred.

Chemicals have done enough damage to the Gowanus Canal for the rest of Brooklyn to get out of jail free of pesticides.

In an urban garden, coexistence triumphs. A metropolis has never been so serene. Or so alive.

When planting seeds, the urban gardener hopes that humanity's cruel indifference to itself hasn't impacted her ability to cultivate growth.

But Ma Nature is a witchy woman with weird and wonderful whims, and she almost always gets her way. Plus, she's got friends in high places.

Because at the end of the day, its all about friendship, right?

All photos were taken at the volunteer-fueled organic gardens that have begun producing fresh local produce for Roberta's in Bushwick. The shockingly lively leafy greens were picked lovingly and put on the table only moments later. Delicious.

Bee Tea

We headed over to Roberta's to make the bee tea. I hadn't been there since the raised beds were built atop the container. I'm consistently impressed by the amount of planning, old-fashioned manual labor, and enthusiastic volunteerism that the Brooklyn Avant Gardeners bring to the table. It is truly rare for a group of young people to say "Let's do this" and then actually do it. AND not just do it half-assed, but do it completely and with passion. The Bee Team is just one part of what can only be described as a movement, or at least an experiment to see just how sustainable we can be in this crazy city. The answer seems to be: very.

Our carbon footprints are becoming smaller and smaller...

(Disclaimer: this is not an actual "carbon footprint." Rather, it is Meatball's paw print on the container stairs after playing in the raised beds.)

This is how to make Bee Tea:

Step 1: Get a big pot of hot water. Think of it as a gigantic teacup.

Step 2: Add 1 part sugar for each part water, stir, and throw in chosen bee potion herbs.

(The green stuff is stinging nettle... growing at Roberta's! The stars are aligned.)

Step 3: Let steep, then separate herbs from water and ladle into mason jars.

Step 4: Add a few drops of thyme oil. Not too much, this stuff is potent.

Step 5: Taste the tea to make sure it is something you would drink. If not, make modifications so that it is pleasing to your taste buds. Close the lids and let them cool overnight so the sugar is completely dissolved.

(Optional Step 6: Marvel over how pretty the mason jars look in the light:)

We will poke tiny holes in the top of the mason jars. This way, when the bees arrive from Georgia, they won't have to immediately go forage for food. It's the same concept as providing exhausted travelers (especially those unlucky victims of cancelled flights) with a Ruby Tuesdays at the airport hotel, except that the bee food is delicious and nutritious.

I've been so focused on bee matters that I've missed some of the most grueling work days on the gardening side of things. It was great to see the fruits of the Avant Gardeners' labor:

Brandywine tomato plant, still a cute little toddler.

Broccoli! (I'd never guess unless someone told me.)