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 After
the air was dry from the rains of May, it was time to plant that
garden I'd been thinking about all winter. I'd dreamed about tomatoes.
Beefsteak, cherry and plum... Fresh basil, parsley, sage, rosemary
and thyme. I'd become the renter of a new apartment with roof
access (albeit through the kitchen window) and had planned an
elaborate garden for it.
The piece d'resistance would be a tropical container
by the front door, to detract from the five already - standing
and secured trash bins. The sultry dappled shade from the banana
tree that I'd planned to put there would beckon passers-by to
stop, rest and note its outstanding beauty. Surely they'd be wowed
by this visual spectacle and petition for more!
I took a day off to plant my garden. In my version
of Wellies, I got out my tools and a few lovely, faux- terracotta
planters from the corner Dee & Dee store. The soil arrived from
Home Depot on time; the plants had been transported with the utmost
in care and supervision from a "real gardener" friend of mine
South of here. I was all ready to begin when the landlord appeared.
"Where you puttin' them?" he asked. "Neighbors won't
like 'em, besides we need all the room for the trash cans". Silence...
Confusion...
Bitterness...
Sarcasm.
What? Neighbors? Not like them? Plants? ARE YOU CRAZY!
Uh oh. Retract that statement, new landlord... not
a great way to start out a relationship with someone that has
keys to your apartment and calls himself "Sal"!
No, Sal wasn't crazy. Sal was just a landlord. So,
resorting to landlord tactics I said, "Ok, maybe I, I mean WE
need to rethink the container. Right? Perhaps something smaller,
less obtrusive... how about a trash can! Yes, that's it, an aluminum
trash can would work!"
"No" he replied. You can't do that. Besides, YOU put one out here
and they'll ALL want to be putting plants out front. It'll be
a mess!"
Hmm, cut my losses or persist? This could get ugly.
Crushed, but not broken, I decide to let Sal and the maintenance
engineers have the last word. I'd have my garden paradise all
to myself outside our kitchen window! (That idea about greening
the streets... they wouldn't appreciate it anyway). So, up the
stairs I went dirt, plants, tools and all.
One hot month later, the tomatoes have ripened,
tropicals were flourishing, and vines happily climbed up the fire
escape. Away for the weekend, I leave the harvest of the first
tomato to my roommate, who gladly accepts the honor. Upon my return,
I figured that the plants would be in need of a good drink. I
climbed out the window with my new hose and notice that the red
tomato was gone... Good, she'd picked and eaten it... I thought.
But what was that a few yards away on the other
side of the roof? It couldn't be! It was the tomato, half
eaten and tossed carelessly across the roof. How rude!
When my roommate arrived home that night I inquired,
"Did you do this?"
Pointing to the pitiful, shriveled and gnawed remains of the prize
tomato she laughed, "Do what, eat that? No!"
"Well who did?" I persisted.
"I... I don't know." she stammered in her flustered British accent.
"Certainly not me!"
After a good laugh, we decided that it must have
been the roofers. You know, the ones who crushed the vines on
the fire escape, left their lunch bags on our roof, and toppled
over the plants in their way. More of Sal's pals undoubtedly,
along with the maintenance engineers (who find it necessary to
empty the five bins belonging to #527 four times a week... at
6am). Had they all conspired against my plan to have a garden?
Awakened by the familiar voices of the engineers
that morning, I crawled through the window to maintain my plants,
pick the tomatoes, trim the basil and sweep the debris (One of
Sal's stipulations for keeping the plants on the roof top). I
left the tomatoes on the window sill as most people do, and went
off to work thinking about which kind of olive oil would best
enhance the basil and tomato I had planned for dinner.
 I
came home with mozzarella in hand and put it on the counter, which
my roommate had left a mess again. I reached for the light, and
upon further investigation, it was evident that she'd been a royal
pig! She'd knocked the tomatoes off the sill and left breadcrumbs
and raisins all over the counter. Raisins?
But wait. What was this, a hole in the screen? That
wasn't...
Who? What kind of... That little bastard, I thought
he was cute!
It wasn't my roommate at all! It seemed that darling little squirrel
who visits the garden had crossed the line. I mean I don't mind
his foraging about in the planters and stealing a few tomatoes,
but this was going too far! He'd become a vandal, a thief and
worst of all, a member of Sal's retinue! Deciding that he'd have
a tomato and bread sandwich, he chewed a hole in the screen, ate
the goods and left (mind you, not without a trace)!
Was it me or was there a conspiracy going on here?
Could my garden survive in the city? Who'd be my next adversary...
the Water Company.
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