An Orchid May Not Grow in the Bronx

I’m sad to report that Ella has really taken a turn for the worse. All her blooms and all her leaves have fallen. I found her in this state after a few days in the country. Her leaves were yellow and soggy, her branches dead at the tops.

I am not sure if she’ll come back. I cut back her branches and set her back on the window sill. I don’t think it’s either light or water – she seems to be getting the required amount of both. I do think it may be air circulation. It’s been so hot, so the windows are often closed and the a/c running. I also think that the air quality here in the Bronx may be poisonous to her.

If her roots have rotted, then that’s it for her. I can see that they are looking a little sodden but am not yet convinced she’s done for. We’ll see. Our windowsill herbs - basil, oregano, thyme - are doing great, as are The Little Men. The Cuban oregano is thriving as well.

Meantime, our landlord is going forth with fencing and groundcover in the back “yard.” So I’m hoping to do some container gardening back there. It’s late in the season, so maybe I can try a last crop of lettuce from seed, some hardy herbs, a shrub or two... I suppose it might seem strange, a little obsessive, all this micro-focus on the plants. I've thought about why it's so important, and I guess it's not so mysterious - the inquiry, that is: can living things thrive and blossom in this environment? Can beauty flourish? What does beauty and health look like in a community primarily characterized by poverty, blight, and neglect - or maybe I should say a community built around industry, not living beings?

We have a neighbor, K., who lives two doors down. We call him The Bird Man, because he walks around (always) with a parrot on his shoulder. (Last we heard, he was awaiting a second parrot, to keep the first one company.) K. works at a garden center down under the Third Avenue Bridge - Dmitri's, in a parking lot, kiddie corner to the Bar & Grill and the motorcycle shop. I've been meaning to check it out, will be sure to do so if/when the backyard garden comes to fruition.

It’s 100 degrees and all the subways are down from last night’s torrential rain. I look around at this city of crazies, sweating it out and late for our meetings – so many of us transplants, “paying the price” for urban living, culture, energy, whatever it is we came here for. The gloss definitely wears off, and you decide, at some point, whether to “naturalize” – to make your life here, a real life, a native-like life, regardless of ambition, shine, “juice.” Ambition is a funny thing – sure, it drives you for periods of time, but it also eats away at your soul, bit by bit. Ambition is often about comparison, at its root – it’s about competition, which means your success relative to the next guy. One of the most difficult things, in this city of lights and buzz, is to find one’s core motivations – what it is that makes you tick, makes you strive, cultivates real and deep creativity and intelligence and meaning and satisfaction – regardless of what other people are doing.

Me, I'm doing plants. Oh, and writing a novel.

Update on G. and the puppy: they're doing great, really bonding. The puppy, Fiona, is starting to get that G. is boss. Unfortunately, she doesn't quite get that the dog obedience teacher is boss, so she bit her last week in class; which prompted a phone call to G., recommending she detach emotionally and give the pup away - claiming that the pup will eventually bite someone for real and then it will be big trouble. Well, G. is not going to be so easily discouraged (on my last visit, I could see the two of them were really becoming family); she is going to try another obedience class, get a second opinion. G. didn't much like this teacher anyway, so maybe the pup picked up on that. It's tough out there, you know; maybe it's not such a bad thing to have a defender.