Matthew Gallaway

The Saturday Garden Report (Angels and Invaders)

I like to think of the spreading ground covers as countries with constantly mutating borders; the flowers are the cities.
Up close, we see the sedum and the veronica at the border, fighting for space and supremacy, just like people.
We bought this plant a few years ago and forgot what it was, mostly because it languished in a pot where it didn't get enough light. I moved it to a sunnier spot, where it's now thriving. Sometimes you can't know everyone's name, unfortunately.
"My name is Dante. Don't forget it."
The primrose is in the back, with the scarlet flowers.
"I'm concerned about the state of the world and my future place in it." -- Zephyr   "I try to 'live in the moment' and enjoy the flowers, but sometimes I can't help but worry about what's going to come down over the wall next."   The azalea and phlox are less concerned, which is why there are benefits to being a plant. 
The miniature yew -- with the yellow tipped branches -- is also doing better this year, after being moved at least ten thousand times over the course of its garden career. 
The birch tree is solid and reliable. It's the one thing we've never touched, except to trim its branches. 
"I will protect this garden from flying snakes." -- Elektra
Suddenly, there is a movement on the wall.  
It is not a flying snake, but a stray kitten, who hovers over us like an angel, watching with fear, fascination, and ambivalence. 

The Bryant Park Project (Summer Friday)

As everyone knows, the best part of summer in New York City happens before summer, like now, in May.  Combine that truth with a Friday afternoon and you have a recipe for bliss. 
Is this Bryant Park or heaven?  The plants were drunk. 
Nobody wants to think about the real summer, when it will be ten thousand degrees outside.  Even the ivy seems like a flowering meadow. 

The Park Avenue Project (Thursday)

All of a sudden the leaves are out and pretty much fully formed.  You don't even have to look at the buildings if you don't want to, but instead can concentrate on the oak leaves. 
Sometimes you can see a building through a gap in the leaves; you might pretend you own an apartment here, if you're very rich.  Meanwhile, some guy was praying to the pink azaleas. 

The Garden Project (Umbrella Pines)

May is the month when the evergreens grow fast.   When the pale green buds spread out from tips of the branches. 
When the new growth soaks up the yellow sun before it turns green. When the cats start to patrol for flying snakes.  
When Zephyr holds an ear back, listening to the birds.  When we all bask in the bright shade. 

The Afterwork Garden (Tuesday)

The garden is now becoming pleasantly cave-like.  I come home and imagine that, like the statue, the leaves are slowly covering me up. 
The outside world is now a memory. 

Let's Get Caffeinated at Taszo (Washington Heights)

Lately a handful of new businesses have been opening up lower Washington Heights, on or near Broadway in the high 150s and low 160s. Yesterday we went to Taszo, which is a new coffee shop on Riverside Drive across from the Grinnell.  As you can see, the restoration is beautiful; the ceilings are high, and the combination of exposed brick, marble-top tables, and dark floors makes you feel instantly relaxed. 
Equally important, the coffee is also great; the owner plans to add some breads and pastries, which seems like a natural step. Best of luck to the owner on an exciting (and much needed) new venture in Washington Heights! 

The March of the Azalea (May)

Our double-blossom azalea is one of those rare plants that seemed to be perfectly happy from the moment we planted it.  We've never moved it, and it's never asked to be moved. 
Every May it basically goes insane with white flowers.  White is not the easiest color to capture with a photograph, I've learned. 
I've tried sun and shade and neither really captures the effect.  It might be time for a new camera. 
Or maybe it's better just to use your imagination. 

The Garden Report (Saturday)

May is like the grand finale of a fireworks display; some flowers -- like the phlox -- are beginning to fade, while the evergreens and azelea are bursting.  We thought that all of our primroses had died, but this one came back, and is surrounded by a carpet of veronica with tiny white flowers. 
The camellia has a few, final blossoms whose form it seems to have perfected after practicing all spring.  The Eskimo Sunset, which was on life support last year, is growing almost manically; for the first time in a few years, it doesn't seem to have any bugs, so we have our fingers crossed that it's going to make it. 
The Japanese maple "Elizabeth" also seems to be happy after its move to a shadier spot.  We haven't had a lot of luck with our evergreens -- they need a lot of sun and space -- but our Norway spruce, which we positioned to have both, is thriving. 
In March the garden seemed almost desolate; now, just two months later, it's verdant; you walk on the path where the leaves whisper "you must change your life." 

The Rose Project (Homecomings)

When I woke up, there were roses everywhere.   They were having a party.  It was a rose party. 
I crashed it and had a pretty good time. 

The Garden Project (Jack Frost Brunnera)

One of our shade perennials is a variety of Brunnera called "Jack Frost," named after the famous explorer.  The tiny flowers are a perfect shade of blue. 
They are distant stars in the sky of our garden.  "I love spring flowers!" -- Dante
"I hate Jack Frost almost as much as I hate flying snakes." -- Elektra