People often tend to think in black & white when talking about urban living versus rural living, but as a person who’s only lived in big cities, my personal view on that matter might be peculiar to some. Growing up with the sonic noise of traffic in the background and the klaxon sound as lullaby, staring down the cars and people the size of architectural model figures from my 16th floor windows, that, was my nature, and I thrived. The ‘real’ nature for me, was a complete fantasy where Bambi and unicorns roam. I still find rural settings to be mysterious and even frightening, and that makes it a very seductive monster. I have been riding the subway and eating street food since elementary school, never knew anyone that ‘mowed their lawn’, but have always fantasized about Thoreau’s Walden, and tree house living. I still fantasize about livining in a cottage with a cashmere goat, a lamb, and angora rabbits, and spinning my small batches of wool, and growing all of the food I consume.
I moved to New York when I was 17, and I had never been so close to living ‘rural’. For the first time in my life, I got to live in apartments below 12th floor. I even made friends who have back yards, and my Brooklyn apartment was so quiet at night. No traffic noise, no sound of screaming childen in the playgound. And the apartments came in such ‘raw’ conditions, that often I did have moments where I’d imagine my self as Thoeau in his cabin. After years of wandering around the boroughs, I put my name on the lease for the first time when I found my current apartment. Immediately, I perpetuated my rural fantasy with building my little garden in the fire escape. It became my pride and joy.
I grew most of them from seeds, some even from the seeds of the produce that we received from our CSA. If you are an avid gardener, or a farmer, you would see a more than a few things that don’t look quite right with what I have done above. But this was my first ‘gardening’ experience, although it was only a small step up from caring for houseplants. It was also the first time I got to eat the food I grew.
After my semi-successful endeavor at the fire escape, I have gained some confidance, and a little envious of people I know who have amazing gardens. So I asked my landlord if we could take over our weed-jungle of a backyard that no one was using. To my surprise, she granted me access!
We had this talk on Saturday afternoon, and by Sunday morning, my landlord’s husband had weeded the entire backyard, bless his heart. The pressure was on. But then I started really thinking about it. Now I had this empty lot filled with toxic soil, with a weird entry way through the bastment and throught the awkward undergound access point that would make it very difficult for me to tackle alone. I knew the amount of work it would require to maintain the space, and I will have to leave it eventually. What have I gotten myself into? It’s too late to be planting most things for this year anyway. Worst of it all, practically speaking, I really don’t even have time for this.
But living in North Brooklyn, hanging out in people’s backyards in summertime is almost a required activity, unless you’re allergic to daylight. And everytime I pass a community garden, it’s as if I am under a hippie spell. I couldn’t deprive myself of fullfilling my childhood fantasies no longer.
So, I have made a commitment. I’ve been pilfering some plants that I can re-root, and last night, I stayed up until very late ordering seeds from seeds of change. I’m so excited to imagine not having to spend money buying cut flowers, growing more herbs, and starting a compost. But I am still worried about the soil. I’m going to have to cover the ground with something, and get compost/soil from somewhere, and that’s not going to be cheap. My plan is to plant the flowers and plants straight to the uncovered ground, and build beds for the edible plants. Hopefully it won’t fail horribly. Off to get a shovel!
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People often tend to think in black & white when talking about urban living versus rural living, but as a person who’s only lived in big cities, my personal view on that matter might be peculiar to some. Growing up with the sonic noise of traffic in the background and the klaxon sound as lullaby, staring down the cars and people the size of architectural model figures from my 16th floor windows, that, was my nature, and I thrived. The ‘real’ nature for me, was a complete fantasy where Bambi and unicorns roam. I still find rural settings to be mysterious and even frightening, and that makes it a very seductive monster. I have been riding the subway and eating street food since elementary school, never knew anyone that ‘mowed their lawn’, but have always fantasized about Thoreau’s Walden, and tree house living. I still fantasize about livining in a cottage with a cashmere goat, a lamb, and angora rabbits, and spinning my small batches of wool, and growing all of the food I consume.
I moved to New York when I was 17, and I had never been so close to living ‘rural’. For the first time in my life, I got to live in apartments below 12th floor. I even made friends who have back yards, and my Brooklyn apartment was so quiet at night. No traffic noise, no sound of screaming childen in the playgound. And the apartments came in such ‘raw’ conditions, that often I did have moments where I’d imagine my self as Thoeau in his cabin. After years of wandering around the boroughs, I put my name on the lease for the first time when I found my current apartment. Immediately, I perpetuated my rural fantasy with building my little garden in the fire escape. It became my pride and joy.
I grew most of them from seeds, some even from the seeds of the produce that we received from our CSA. If you are an avid gardener, or a farmer, you would see a more than a few things that don’t look quite right with what I have done above. But this was my first ‘gardening’ experience, although it was only a small step up from caring for houseplants. It was also the first time I got to eat the food I grew.
After my semi-successful endeavor at the fire escape, I have gained some confidance, and a little envious of people I know who have amazing gardens. So I asked my landlord if we could take over our weed-jungle of a backyard that no one was using. To my surprise, she granted me access!
We had this talk on Saturday afternoon, and by Sunday morning, my landlord’s husband had weeded the entire backyard, bless his heart. The pressure was on. But then I started really thinking about it. Now I had this empty lot filled with toxic soil, with a weird entry way through the bastment and throught the awkward undergound access point that would make it very difficult for me to tackle alone. I knew the amount of work it would require to maintain the space, and I will have to leave it eventually. What have I gotten myself into? It’s too late to be planting most things for this year anyway. Worst of it all, practically speaking, I really don’t even have time for this.
But living in North Brooklyn, hanging out in people’s backyards in summertime is almost a required activity, unless you’re allergic to daylight. And everytime I pass a community garden, it’s as if I am under a hippie spell. I couldn’t deprive myself of fullfilling my childhood fantasies no longer.
So, I have made a commitment. I’ve been pilfering some plants that I can re-root, and last night, I stayed up until very late ordering seeds from seeds of change. I’m so excited to imagine not having to spend money buying cut flowers, growing more herbs, and starting a compost. But I am still worried about the soil. I’m going to have to cover the ground with something, and get compost/soil from somewhere, and that’s not going to be cheap. My plan is to plant the flowers and plants straight to the uncovered ground, and build beds for the edible plants. Hopefully it won’t fail horribly. Off to get a shovel!
