LaGuardia Corner Gardens

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

Our off-time on a recent trip to New York City was spent wandering around soaking everything in and taking pictures. I didn’t go out of my way to visit specific gardens or community gardens this time, but naturally found some along the way.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

One of the community gardens I came upon was the LaGuardia Corner Gardens located in Greenwich Village between Bleecker and Houston Streets. I have come across this particular garden on past trips and have even taken some photos of it. I had a rough idea of where it was located and was pleasantly surprised when we stumbled upon it on our last day.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

I’m not sure what it is about this garden that had me hoping to find it again. Maybe it’s the location, which is particularly interesting as the garden sits smack dab in front of a supermarket with a fence around it.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

There are several community gardens in New York City that are a good twenty years in the making. Through the years the landscape and socio-economic standing of the communities that surround them have changed, often times from poor to rich and from rubble to fancy metal and glass contemporary structures. As a result, these gardens and their gardeners always have an interesting story to tell.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

The history of LaGuardia Corner Gardens is your typical community garden story beginning with local residents digging a garden on barren, unused land, then fighting to keep the garden alive amidst a changing neighborhood.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

While I was taking photos, a woman came up to me and mentioned that a rooster had been spotted poking around in the garden the day before. She didn’t know where he came from or if he was still there. This exchange and information sharing is one of the things I enjoy most about photographing gardens. If you hang around long enough looking like you belong, someone is always bound to come by, eager to reveal the garden’s secrets.

Sure enough, as we made our way around the perimeter we eventually spotted him darting about, stopping now and again to take a bite out of a plant. I wonder if he is still there and how much of the garden remains!

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Extending the Harvest

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This piece was originally published in The Globe & Mail over the weekend as a part of my series on kitchen gardening.

Regarding using burlap and burlap sacks: Just to be clear, do keep them away from the crowns of your plants since they can get awfully heavy when wet. In fact, they are best used over the winter to prevent the erosion of large, open patches of soil from which annuals have been removed. Even better still, place the dead plant matter (browns) and some kitchen scraps (greens) underneath the burlap and you’ll have fresh compost on the spot come spring.

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I love a fresh, crisp fall day. Many of us would agree that it would be the best season of the year if not for the fact that it is a stepping-stone to the inevitable: winter.

Who knows what this fall will bring given the wacky weather hijinx we’ve experienced this year. But let’s pretend for a moment that everything will go as planned and there won’t be snow sprinkled on the peppers tomorrow morning (please gods). We can’t control the weather or stave off the inevitable, but as gardeners there are a few methods we can employ to hold back the effects of seasonal change and keep the party going just a wee while longer.

You’re already one step ahead if your garden is a raised bed. They warm up slightly early in the spring and tend to stay warmer as the fall cools down. A thick layer of mulch such as straw, buckwheat hulls, or shredded newspaper keeps the soil and surface roots warm through nippy nights and breezy fall days. An actual blanket made of burlap gets the job done too, but can get awfully heavy when wet so be sure to cut big holes to keep it off the crowns of plants. An even better blanket still is black plastic. The dark colour attracts the sun’s rays and the plastic holds moisture through fluke fall droughts.

In lieu of cumbersome blankets, which can be difficult to maneuver in small spaces, or used alongside them, are an assortment of store-bought and homespun contraptions that can be fitted over individual plants or entire beds to trap warm air and create the effect of a miniature greenhouse. Hoop houses are toasty-warm tunnels made of metal or plastic hoops draped with a clear plastic tarp that let’s light in and keeps warm air from escaping. You can buy them ready made from garden suppliers such as Lee Valley or make your own inexpensively using bendable metal shaped into arcs or dollar-store hula-hoops cut in half. Push the arcs into the soil intermittently to support the length of the tunnel and cover with a big sheet of plastic. Secure the plastic in place by stapling to the sides of raised beds or with clips purchased at the hardware store.

Greenhouses made to cover individual plants are called cloches. Fancy glass cloches are nice to look at but expensive at about $30-40 a pop! Never mind, you can make as many as you like in a variety of sizes for free from plastic water bottles rescued from the recycling bin. Simply cut off the bottom and set the cloche over tender greens or frost-sensitive plants you’d like to keep in the garden just a little bit longer. Keeping the cap in place locks warmth inside, or you can remove it to water your plants and let heat escape on particularly sunny days.

Cold frames are the way to go if you’d like to get a shot at keeping particularly cold hardy greens such as mâche, kale, spinach, and arugula producing food straight through into the winter (and beyond). It’s really nothing more than a low-tech box with a hinged glass or plastic lid. The trick is to dig the box at least a few inches into well-draining soil and give it a south-facing position. Open the lid when it gets too hot, and insulate both the sides and top with newspapers, straw, and old burlap sacks when night temperatures drop below freezing. They’re not exactly practical when growing up on a roof or in pots but compact versions set on top of a planter box will ensure at least a few extra homegrown salads this fall.

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Fruits of Passion

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The other day I happened upon a store that was selling four different types of passion fruit (passiflora) simultaneously. While I have tried some of these types separately before, finding four at once posed an excellent opportunity to judge them against each other.

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Then I figured why not try to collect the seeds and grow them while I’m at it? I have grown passion fruit vine in the past but have never tried to start them from seed. This will be an interesting experiment. The trick seems to be to start the seeds fresh, straight out of the fruit so I’d better get on it quickly. Dried, older seeds can take ages to germinate, although I figure it’s worth the experiment to try the seeds in either state for the heck of it just to see what happens.

The other negative I expect to come up is that the fruit I bought are probably commercially grown hybrids. As a result I can’t be sure of how the plants will turn out. However, I’m not worried about it since I’m growing for the flowers, not the fruit. If they germinate, great. If not, oh well.

The Results of the Taste Test:

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Golden Passion Fruit (Passiflora edulis var. flavicarpa)

Apparently this belongs to the same species as purple passion fruit but the taste is very different. In a word, yuck. However, I am reticent to leave that as my definitive judgment. When imported, these kinds of tropical fruit are often tasteless and horrible compared to those picked fresh off the vine. Based on online photos, I’d hazard a guess that ours was simply not ripe yet. I’d like to try this type again under different circumstances.

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Banana Passion Fruit (Passiflora tripartita var. mollissima) or (Passiflora tarminiana) aka Curuba

I did not care for the fruit to be honest, but I’m willing to chalk it up to produce picking error on my part. Chances are it just wasn’t a good sample. Regardless, this is the variety I am most excited about growing. The powdery soft, pink flowers dangle from the vine and remind me of plastic caps that covered the string of lights on the Xmas tree when I was a kid.

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Purple Passion Fruit (Passiflora edulis)

I’ve tasted this type of passion fruit both here and purchased from a farmers’ market for mere pennies in Mexico where I am sure it was ripe and straight off the vine. The taste was comparable and very good in both conditions. It’s sweet with a sour kick. The seeds are crunchy and edible so you might as well just eat it all since they are difficult to separate from the gelatinous fruit.

The flowers of this species are your prototypical passiflora, at least in my region. I say this not to suggest that they are dull, simply that this is the vine most commonly seen for sale at corner shops and garden centres here in Toronto. For many years this was the only species I could find locally, until the demand rose and other varieties started to appear.

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Granadilla (Passiflora ligularis)

I often see this type sold in Latin American food stores. It is the best tasting of the lot as far as I’m concerned. It has the sweetest and least sour taste and the seeds have a very satisfying crunch. Its droopy, purple and white flowers are very unusual and remind me of a of sea creature.

Growing Passion Fruit

Passion fruit vines aren’t hardy to colder, northern regions of the world, but with a few measures you can keep them alive for years and years. I grew one in a very large container (about 14″ deep) for several years consecutively and even managed to produce a tiny, inedible fruit from another variety during one particularly warm summer. It may have been tasteless and almost empty inside, but I sure was proud of it. Passion fruit vines requires a longer summer to produce real fruit, but it is still worth growing for the flowers.

Oh, the flowers. There are so many incredible flowers in interesting shapes, colours, and intoxicating smells. One could devote their entire growing life to this genus alone since there are hundreds of different species kicking about across the world.

Passion flower vines grow big and lush very quickly. As a result they need rich, fertile soil to flourish. I have found small, straggly plants growing in horribly dry, nearly dead soil in vacant lots in Mexico. These plants were alive, just not very nice to look at and the fruit were impossibly tiny. Passion flowers also need a lot of sun and decent moisture and humidity. If you plan to grow these indoors in a really dry apartment or electric-heated house I would suggest giving them a spray now and again through the winter months when the air is driest.

Overwintering

In the past, I overwintered my passiflora plants by bringing their containers inside just before the first frost. I forced them into dormancy by cutting the vine back hard down to the lower branches and placing the pots in our cool (but not freezing) hallway where there is dim north facing light. Basements and cold mudrooms also make a good location. I watered the soil every once and a while to be sure the plants didn’t go dry, but tried to keep them on the dryer side of moist. The plants went back outside in the spring once all fear of frost was behind us.

I know others who have simply grown passiflora indoors year round in a very sunny window. When it got to be too big and unruly they would cut it back hard and start again.

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Innocence Lost

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Remember a few months back when I said something like, “Let’s stop using war mongering language against the critters?”

I can’t locate it on the site, but I know I said it. Somewhere. To someone. Was it you?

That was a kinder, gentler, more innocent me. That was me during the off-season when my thoughts are turned to planning new and fun gardening experiments and I’ve forgotten all about how maddening it is to discover a half eaten tomato laying on the roof like a cruel taunt.

Hey human, I took your precious tomato and I only ate half! Here’s the rest, all germy and covered in raccoon and/or squirrel saliva.

That was the me that existed before today when I walked out onto the roof garden to discover bits of the best ‘Black Seaman’ tomato of the bunch that I had been eye-balling with anticipation laying on the railing.

The raccoons and squirrels are out of control this year. They are taking far more than their fair share of the bounty and leaving almost none for me. Jerk faced jerks.

Everything is too much this year. There is too much rain and too much cold; too many wasps and aphids. But there are not enough tomatoes and the fruit I am getting are being poached while I sleep. Yesterday, my neighbour helpfully suggested that I hire Dick Cheney to come by each night and watch over the crop until morning.

Come winter I will look back on the positives of this gardening season and write lovingly about the discoveries that were made and the opportunity for experimentation this odd weather brought about. But until then I want a do over.

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Wasp Invasion!

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I haven’t noticed it to be quite the exaggerated horror film some are saying, but apparently Toronto is in the midst of a yellow jacket population explosion. The increase is thought to be the result of the combination of a cool, wet season, and the recently resolved garbage strike. All-in-all there’s just a lot more bugs in our gardens this summer, period.

Which is why, like Not Far From the Tree, I would also urge home owners to reconsider calling in an exterminator to destroy nests. Wasps may be a nuisance around the backyard barbecue, but they are also predatory insects that help to reduce the increased population in pesky plant eaters like aphids. Check out this fantastic series from Chair Brière of a yellow jacket eating a cabbage worm.

Yesterday afternoon I happened upon this scene on the sidewalk. I’m not sure if the yellow jackets are doing us any favors by decreasing the cicada population (I love cicadas) but unfortunately like spiders, they aren’t very discriminating. Still, it was fascinating to watch them in action, if not a little bit gruesome.

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