Like Alien's Jaw

Just to gross yourself out see the post on the Journals of an Amateur Naturalist.

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Come Again

I took this nice weather morning to plant these bulbs that I received, wow, over a month ago. All from Scheepers. In the back, Crocus tommasinanius and Crocus T. 'Lilac Beauty'. Twenty five for $4.75, I think that's a great price for the small pleasures of late winter. Scheepers' website mentions that squirrels don't eat these. Of course, I've had more trouble with my own shovel destroying the crocus, but I think I found evidence of the anti-squirrel qualities of these. I planted them in soil around the stepping stones in the side yard. The next day I went out and saw that the soil was spread all over the stones and what did I see, but one crocus bulb sitting on top, un-gnawed. I think sir squirrel moved on to other more tempting treats.

The front two are species lilies, 'Citronella' and 'Davidii', 5 bulbs each for $9.75 and honestly, I wish I could have given two of each away -no room! The white bulbs on the left are onion, Allium atropurpureum. I really don't like those giant globe allium, so I go for the varieties that have more open habits or the humble umbel forms.

I was planting the bulbs, moving iris and other perennials for the side yard flower garden, come vegetable garden, come again flower garden. Since that corner is kind of messy with the cat feeding and bottle depositing and otherwise garbage-y quality, not to mention the telephone poles that come and go, I put some max sunflowers in the corner to go with the mess. Today, when I am doing this other work, a neighbor says hello and then says 'finally cutting back those flowers, eh.' To which I respond, 'do you not like them?' And so on from there...

I will never cut down a flower in bloom. Just won't, unless, of course, it's for the vase. I certainly wasn't doing what my friendly neighbor was suggesting, and certainly not in November when every day with blooms is an anchorage to warm and temperate times. But I get it, neighbors want plants to stay within their frames- behind the fence, WHAP!! cracks the whip. So I bend, cranking back the poor stems of Helianthus maximilianii with a twine contraption, forcing them into the shade of the Yew tree they so desperately reach from to catch the last bits of low sun, their penchant tropism. Oh ye heliotrope, bend not to your need and will, but to the wants of your animal neighbors! Such as it is, such as it is.

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A Walk To The Farmers' Market In The Month Of November

My bounty. I got there late and the farmer consistently with the most produce had only pumpkins and parsnips left. The carrots I got at another stand, stunted ones, 2lb, $2. Apples, lots of apples. And cider. I also got porgies, which reminded me of my childhood fishing expeditions.

My street, facing Coney.


Scarlet supreme.


That proud oak on Albemarle.

This maple attracted me. Much is said about the strength of trees planted out in the open, yet their size and symmetry often disguises weakness. This one was probably damaged heavily in the tornado of 07, and now loses limbs in winds many trees could tolerate. A community of trees is quite protective, keeping winds at their tops, their thinner trunks and upright branches more flexible under heavy winds. While the beauty of that proud oak grown in the open is obvious, a more subtle beauty is present in a community of trees, swaying in concert, under the winds.

Red Japanese maple ever more red.


What's this, a blooming azalea on Westminster?


Felt a little strange, but I was compelled to enter a driveway of the residence to get closeups.


Damp, dark trunks and golden leaves.


Fruit loops.


With all the warm colors of autumn, this pale blue-green juniper simply lept at me.

Last Sunday, lifted, the raking low light, the saturation of color, the dampened bark of trees, the scent of carbon decay, the humid air of spring, I wore shorts and a jacket, on sidewalks stained with tannins, viewed grasses colored naturally by the season, sensual completely, emotionally charged connection to the world, in Brooklyn, on the streets, amongst houses and cars and people.

Late November and early December are the most Romantic months. Get out, on a moist day, enter the woods, the park, the shore, give in to it. Beautiful.

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What Rainy Days Are For

A hot cup of coffee and a woodblock print, moku hanga style.

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Yes. Yes I Can.

Well look what's coming out of nowhere in the front yard. Feel a bit sad for these seedlings at this time of the year. No chance.

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WNYC And Me

In a couple of weeks its Thanksgiving. I find that the meal, that huge surge of food, does not taste quite as good on that day as it does on others. I'll be visiting my mother on the holiday where I will have this stuffing: we call it, phonetically, gaw-n-za. How to spell it, no one knows. I'll be making it this Sunday, stuffed into a chicken or two for us and some friends.

Last Sunday, we had the opening reception for 'reaganography' in Greenpoint. The opening was a success, on turn out alone, and had one surprise visitor: Leonard Lopate. Now Leonard had a show the following Monday that discussed Reagan's influence on the end of the USSR. I couldn't listen, I had to run to work, but I imagined, briefly that he mentioned the show on his show.

Three years ago, I was a voice on the phone during a segment about Thanksgiving recipes with Ruth Reichl and Leonard. I submitted the gaw-n-za recipe. When I engaged Leonard at the opening I didn't mention the Ruth Reichl segment. Two and a half years prior I met Ruth at The MacDowell Colony, mentioned it, but she couldn't recall the segment. I did, however, mention that there must only be 2 degrees between Leonard and 8 million New Yorkers.

While the recipe has remained the same in my mother's cooking, I've been messing with it. This year, little shifts: the rice is basmati, not carolina long grain, the mushrooms are small portobello, not white, and I added to the beef and pork a little bit of lamb over the Jimmy Dean that somehow made it into the recipe. Other years I've added chestnuts and raisins (as my grandfather would have). I think I would like dried cranberries or other dried fruit (apricot?) with a nut, maybe pine or pecan. My mother wouldn't go for these changes, but in spirit it's the same recipe.

The recipe listed on the WNYC website omits one ingredient that seems to go into all my family's cooking: pecorino romano. Its the salty kick in everything they do.

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