After slogging through the remnants of Tropical Storm Debby for what felt like several hundred years, we finally woke up to sun, low humidity, and clean air in the city.
In more good news, our grapes -- like every single one -- were eaten by a small flock of birds that had passed through the garden with the rains. In the past, I might have been annoyed to lose our harvest, but this year, I felt relieved knowing that I had been spared the task of cutting the grapes from the vine and happy that the birds had taken their fill. Not only did they eat the hanging grapes, but they also ate the ones that had fallen to the ground. It was like they held a big party and cleaned up after themselves. I want them to come back next year.
The other piece of important news from the garden is that I can officially report that the trap we installed to combat the ongoing invasion of spotted lanternflies has been very effective. When we (meaning our tree service) nailed it to the trunk of the birch last spring, I was skeptical it would do much; after all, there are millions of spotted lanternflies all over the city, so I assumed that any we trapped in our garden would be replaced by others. But I'm happy to report that I was wrong; after catching two bags of juvenile flies, I have -- in contrast to last year, where they were everywhere (but especially on the birch and in the grapes) -- not seen any of the adults in our garden, although I've seen tons of them around the city.
During a short break in the rains, I took Clio for a walk. We're a little worried that she's been grieving the loss of Zephyr. There's been a lot of death in 2024, and she is not immune.
Fortunately, she can console herself in her new penthouse apartment, which she continues to enjoy.
In less dramatic news, our 'moonlight' climbing hydrangea (Schizophragma hydrangeoides) is hanging on.
The caladium are also happy in the heat and low light.
They won't last through the winter unless temperatures stay above sixty degrees, which who knows anymore.
I feel a little guilty about the annuals, but not guilty enough to stop planting them!
On Monday, before the hurricane arrived, I went to Queens.
It had been too long since I had seen my New Age psychic, and I needed a dose of 'love, success, and happiness.' Lol. I actually went to get my guitar amps tuned up, which is another kind of psychic journey. From what I can tell, there are only a handful of amp techs in the city, and none of them are easy to track down. I found myself calling guitar stores and scouring message boards from ten years ago, hoping to find someone in Manhattan. I finally emailed a guy whose card I still had from twenty years ago, and he was willing to look at my amps. He was still in the middle of Queens :( but I decided to go for it. He remembered my amps and, when he opened one of them up, he recognized the work of one of the other New York City amp techs. 'Did Blackie work on this?' he asked me. I said no, that I had bought the amp used in Kentucky while on tour in the 1990s, which led us to surmise that a previous owner of the amp had employed Blackie before selling it in Kentucky. Or there could be many other possible scenarios, given that the amp -- as the tech informed me -- was manufactured in 1965 and its speaker was made in 1967. Now that we were older, we spent time complaining about banks and marveled at the wonders of Zelle, which I used to pay him.
While the tech worked on my amps, I walked around Queens. I traversed one of the most hideous highway interchanges in the world (the Grand Central and the Van Wyck) and explored a bird sanctuary at Willow Lake.
It was a little eerie walking around a nature preserve bounded by highways. I wondered how many dead bodies have been dumped in these waters.
But the plants were beautiful in the afternoon light.
And I felt comforted by the ruins.
Once, these paths were lined with elegant lampposts.
Now, nature is taking over.
There is a path into the trees, I thought, and there is a path out.
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