Stealing Plants? You Suck.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved

I took advantage of the overcast conditions on Saturday afternoon to plant out some perennials into the street garden. And since I just used the words street garden (along with the above photo) you can probably predict where this is going.

The next morning I went outside, looked over at the garden, and found a large gaping hole where a large, beautiful (so, so beautiful), and terribly prickly sea holly (Eryngium) ‘Big Blue’ had been planted the day before. I hope whomever stole it poked their eye out on the way home. No, I don’t mean to wish anything that terrible on them. Yes I do. No, but… Yes, but… No, but…

Ironically enough, I bought that plant (it cost $15 on sale) BECAUSE it is such a hardy, prickly bad ass mother of a plant. Surely no one would attempt to damage it in the way they have so many other plants in the garden. Little did I imagine that someone would just take the entire thing outright. And when I bought it, I also announced that this was the last plant I was going to buy for that garden. “Never again!”, I proclaimed. Freebies only from here on out.

Soon after I vented my frustration about the theft on Twitter, responses started to pour in from gardeners who have also had plants stolen from their gardens. Some have lost several plants to theft. This bewilders me. What gardener would steal an entire plant from another gardener to replant in their own? Aren’t we better than that? I’ve dealt with a lot of bull in the approximately ten years I’ve been growing that garden, but it never occurred to me that the damage could (or would) come from a fellow gardener. Surely someone who has put labor, time, effort, money, and emotional attachment into growing their own little patch of land understands what a blow that would be to another gardener.

I have long said that in the act of gardening in such a public space, I have learned more about human psychology than I have about growing plants. I have experienced care, helpfulness, interest, connection, and generosity from my community through the garden. But I have also experienced the negative impact of how messed up, selfish, aggressive, destructive, and narcissistic some people can be. When my garden has come under attack, I have learned a thing or two about myself — what pushes my buttons and what I can withstand. And I suppose I am still learning this last lesson as I keep announcing I am done and will never garden there again only to go back in and try again. And again. And again. Resiliency, stupidity, an intense need to garden, or all of the above? Whatever it is I am done complaining.

Yesterday, after we found the gaping hole, Davin went home and made a sign for me. Bless him. It’s a nice sign that says what I wanted to say but couldn’t. If I had tried to make a sign at that time it would have come out as a string of expletives. Since so many of you have responded with your own stories of garden treachery and the need to place a sign, I thought I would make it available here as a printable download. It won’t last forever, but should last long enough to get the message out.

Please feel free to vent about a recent theft from your garden below.

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Planty Things I Saw in Montreal

I am terribly behind. We took a short leisure trip to Montreal about a month ago, I took pictures with the full intention of posting about it, but then I didn’t. But now I am. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna do it and then I’m gonna hit publish rather than starting it and then letting it sit in the drafts folder.

This is just a short examination of little plantish things I discovered while wandering around town. They’re all taken with my convenient pocket-sized “documenting camera”, which are just nice words for “piece of crap” so please bear with the poor quality. I took other pictures too, but will post those separately. Or something will come up and I’ll never get around to it and it will be like we never had this conversation.

Here we go:

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
They have nicer planter boxes than we do here in Toronto. I found this one walking west along Rue Sherbrooke.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
Here it is from another angle highlighting that GIGANTIC taro. That taro eats babies.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
Here’s a close-up.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
As we continued walking west, we came upon Montreal’s version of the flora clock in front of the Westmount City Hall. Say what you will about the cheese but that is some hardcore landscaping.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
And close-up. Obsessive compulsive weeding or herbicides? Ummmm…

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
And continuing on our epic journey westward, this sign, which in all honesty isn’t that exciting except that it is in French.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
First sighting of my new favourite botanically inclined graffiti, Green Thumb. Until this moment, my running favourite was the PESTO tags that showed up around my neighbourhood years back.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
Just when I thought I might die of heat and thirst (we arrived at the start of a heat wave) we entered the village of Westmount where I discovered a delicious ice creamery/gelato bar called Bilboquet that served a dizzying array of flavours. I had cassis. Davin had rum raisin.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
We finally arrived at our destination and guess who was waiting for us…

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
The next day we went to the Atwater Market. Tons of begonias… meh. But look at that artichoke/cardoon (not sure) and kale! It’s been a killer year for kale, non?

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
It’s not really planty, but if you saw how much canning I am doing this year… In fact, a batch of pears are processing in the canner as I write this. My apartment is growing close to resembling this market stall, minus the nice shelf display and charm.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
This place made me very happy.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
It’s at the corner of Parc and Bernard if you’d like to go see it in person. Stop by the Drawn & Quarterly store while you’re there. Caffe in Gamba makes really good coffee if you are as picky about espresso-based coffee beverages as I am. Which is to say, A-1 snob. They have pretty good taste in music too.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
I like this planter more than the planting itself, but really, it’s a street planter, what can you expect. The fact that it is so well kept and respected is a marvel in itself.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
We managed to make it to the Jean Talon Market just a few hours before departure time.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
Everyone said it and I do agree that it is the superior market. Atwater is more expensive and sanitized, while the Jean Talon is the sort of place I would enjoy doing my shopping. In fact, I DID enjoy shopping there. You’d be surprised what I will bring home when I don’t have to worry about customs regulations and airport security. I think Davin might have been most resentful about lugging home that big bag of crab apples. In all fairness it was worth it since they were/are the nicest crab apples I have seen all summer. Absolutely perfect with hardly any pitting or bruising.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
I love this sign. For eating and for planting.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
I grow my own yet (a month later) I still regret not bringing some of these home. I wish farmers at my local market would sell zucchini with the flowers still on. They’re just so pleasing to the eye like this. And the flowers are absolutely delicious in their own right. Don’t forget to eat your flowers! They’re the best reason for growing your own zucchini.

Photo by Gayla Trail  All Rights Reserved
Last, but not least, a very resilient (and dangerous) corn stalk I found growing in an alley.

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Please Don’t Destroy My Garden No More

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I really need to make a sign like this for my street garden. Except mine would include an assortment of choice words and threats… all the things I want to say to the various offenders but can’t because I never catch them in the act. Threats such as, “If I ever catch you urinating in my garden you better have jets on your feet.” My neighbor once relayed the story of coming home to find a business man had stepped out of a limo and was urinating on our front steps. Now we’re not in the middle of nowhere here. There is a coffee shop right around the corner just a few steps away. Instead of shouting threats or calling the guy out he just walked up, stood alongside him and pulled down his zipper. “Watching you makes me feel like peeing here too.” he said to the startled and confused public urinator. I’m guessing that as a female this tactic would not be effective for me.

I often stop to photograph signs like the one above wherever I find them. And I find them more often than you’d think. It would be nice to believe that everyone appreciates the hard work gardeners put into making something beautiful that everyone can share in but the reality is that some people are messed up and those people sometimes feel resentment towards other living things and acts of beauty. Maybe it hurts them too much? Maybe they don’t feel like they can share in it but rather that it is just another thing they can’t have in their lives? Maybe they’re just angry as hell and need to take it out on something? Maybe they just need to pee RIGHT NOW and they don’t care where and they don’t care how? I don’t know or even understand all of the motives but I do know that just about any city gardener has a story and we’ve all learned an unexpected thing or two about human psychology via our gardens. Although I never would have thought of it, I really dig the signs that threaten karmic smiting. However when it comes down to it I find that I can’t wait or even believe that the “universe” will take care of business, I want to be the one to deliver the blow.

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When bad things happen to my garden I sometimes feel angry enough to cut some heads off. Metaphorically of course. But other times I just feel sad. Defeated. When my garden was most recently viciously assaulted my response wasn’t to get angry or violent. Instead, uncharacteristically, I crumbled. I decided to tack up a letter addressed to the perpetrator but all I could muster up was a sad and pathetic, “Why?” This time it just hit me in a way that it hasn’t in the past. This person didn’t just clumsily fall into the irises or trample the lilies on their way to a semi-private pee spot against the back wall. This person maliciously and purposefully took out every globe thistle in the garden. The thistles were big. They were tall and just about to bloom. This person very meticulously tramped every single stem in such a way that the stems were crushed right to the ground like crop circles in a corn field. I’m going to take a wild guess and say that this was not the cruel work of a tiny spaceship or a troop of little greys but the calculated act of a real human. I couldn’t believe it. Of all the things that have happened in and around that garden this particular act just floored me, leaving me feeling sad and powerless in a way that I did not like. So much so that it has taken me 4 weeks to coherently write here about this event. I mean I could get angry and throw stuff but who do I direct the anger towards when they are a faceless phantom? And what made it worse was how the purposefulness of it felt personal, like it wasn’t just the plants that were destroyed but that I had also been kicked in the gut and left to rot. And that no one did anything about it in that way that people will watch an assault on the street and then shamefully turn away from the victim rather than reach out or help.

And it gets worse. I know the attack happened during the day when there is always at least one or several people from the law clinic standing around shooting the shit and smoking. I know because I am never without an audience as I bend over to work on the garden. And they never say a peep and turn away when I look in their direction, never engaging and then when I am not around throwing their butts into the garden. To top it off, when I went outside that day and discovered the destruction I stood there for several minutes in shock. And then the emotions started to come. And as I turned around I caught a woman standing inside the doors of the law office gawking at me! Thanks lady!

About a week or so after the incident, I had finally got up the nerve to go out there and begin cleaning up and moving on. The thing is, what happened sucked but I’ve been through a lot with that garden, worse than this. And I’ve been through a lot in my life, much, much worse than this. And after a certain point I can’t not get back on the horse and keep going. Thankfully my stubbornness knows no limit. As I was getting ready to leave a man stopped and called out to me from across the street saying that he loved the garden and was glad to see that I was able to get back on my feet and keep going after what had happened. I was feeling too overwhelmed at the time to say what I felt but I want to tell that lovely man how much I appreciated his words and support. That seemingly small and simple act of kindness from a stranger really turned things around for me because he had acknowledged what had happened, saw how it had hurt, and turned towards me instead of looking away.

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