Sunday was a gorgeous day to be out in the garden, and I was for several hours in the afternoon. Yesterday wasn’t bad, either. This week we’re looking at another mini-heatwave, though, so I doubt I’ll be able to get out too much before the weekend.

Tonight is National Night Out, apparently, so there’s been some discussion of gardeners bringing candles out to the gardens and lighting them up, and hanging out in them until nine. All I’ve got to say is, if you’re gonna bring candles, make sure they’re citronella. I was there around six last night, when my garden’s shaded, and the mosquitoes were having their own little night out. And dinner was on me. Literally.

So anyway…

Yesterday there was this fellow in the fens cruising. Well, there were a few, as always, but this one was cruising me. Little old ME! Imagine! I felt like a sweepstakes winner!

Truth is I was just minding my own business, dropped in on my way home from “work,” and really wasn’t looking for “action.”

Day-cruising in the Fenway is generally kept to the designated cruising circuit, which consisits of certain paths, nooks and crannies among the phragmites. At least before dark, and until they hook up. I think this is a good arrangement. I mean, I accept the Fens as a multipurpose park, and I certainly don’t object to a little al fresco amore on occasion.

So this fellow was hanging out obviously looking for a little afternoon delight. I went to get a wheelbarrow and saw him. He was strutting around very determinedly, shirtless, and was one of these guys, probably in his mid-forties, who’s totally ravaged from the neck up, but with the athletic physique of a twenty-something.

He stalked around (and around and around), and finally zeroed in on my garden. I was chatting with Tony when he passed by the second time, and on his third pass he finally stopped.

He leaned on the fence, and smiled a sad, ravaged smile, and said, “Hey!”

We were like, “how’s it going?”

He was like, “I want some seeds.”

I said, “what kind of seeds are you looking for?”

He was like, “Your seeds, man!”

“Mmm, nice.”

He’s like, “You gotta gimme credit for that line, man. It took me, like, ten minutes to think of it.”

Tony and I knodded in appreciation. And I rushed right over and poked my thingy through the chain-link fence, and a good time was had by all.

No. Sad to say, the mystery was gone.

You know, cruising’s a delicate balance. He was obviously horny and frustrated and thought he’d just cut to the chase. But, strange as it may seem, this is a highly ritualized exercise. And especially day-cruising takes honed instincts, charm, and tact. At night, if you’re in a cruising spot, you don’t need the charm or the tact. But in the daytime, you may be in cruise-world, but once you diverge from the path, you’re out in the real world.

I mean, I was in my garden pulling weeds chatting with my neighbor. You know? In the real world we don’t just go up to people and solicit them. It’s not like asking the time. “Excuse me, may I blow you?” “How ya doing? Would you mind poking me in the bushes over there?” That’s not how day-time society works. Sorry. If you want to cruise in the daylight of the real world, it’s a different set of rules. It takes skills, people.

Heaven forbid anyone reading this were to think I’m a prude. Far from it. We live in a slut society–not just sex sluts, but corporate sluts, drug sluts, sports sluts. Far be it from me to suggest we should hide our sluttiness under a bushel basket, or whatever. Slut it up, by all means. But even sluts go about things a certain way. That’s all I’m saying.

Categories: Urban Gardening Strategies
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Ah, the joys of urban gardening!

Remember back a few weeks ago when I mentioned Merde Man–I’m assuming it’s a man, because women just don’t do things like this, do they?–who’s been systematically pooping right in front of garden gates all over the Boylston section of the Fenway Victory Gardens, for years, as far as I know? His regular rotation has brought him to my beloved Row E twice in as many weeks.

Yesterday, when I dropped in to do some weeding, there was that foul smell again. Nothing smells quite like human shit, does it? And the weather was brutal yesterday afternoon–hot and humid–which made it worse. It seemed to be somewhat localized but I could not pinpoint it, so I set off in search of the pile I knew had been lovingly left for me or one of my lucky neighbors.

Turned out to be a turd the size of a beer can plopped neatly down–perfectly centered, lest anyone thought it was not well-planned and meticulously executed–right in front of my lovely neighbor Rob’s garden gate.

I removed the offending matter as expeditiously as possible to the compost heap at the far end of the row. But something of the stink lingered.

Not least the psychic stink of the act itself. It’s hard to get my mind around the thrill Merde Man must experience in anticipation of the unseen reaction of his unknown victims. (Unless, of course, he is actually one of us, a possibility, and wanders among us gleefully awaiting mention of his nefarious nocturnal emissions the next day: I once had my locker at the gym broken into, and I am absolutely sure the perp was standing a couple lockers away when I brought the attendant in to see. I’m sure it was the perp, in fact, who came up to me after the attendant had left, introduced himself, and asked if I knew how to use a calling card, if you needed a PIN–but, you know, what can you do?)

There are sociopaths among us, that’s for sure. It’s all a part of the rich tapestry of urban life.

Categories: gardening philosophy, Urban Gardening Strategies
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Some critter came and gnawed off one of my poppies, just as it was about to pop. But that’s part of the heartbreak of gardening, particularly in the public gardens. Of course, there are always critters to contend with. When I was gardening out in suburbia I had rabbits. I don’t even want to know what kind of critters are partying in my plot here when I’m not around.

My neighbor’s poppies have started to bloom, though, and I’ve got a nice view of them:

5/24/06

Categories: Urban Gardening Strategies, garden snapshots
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Note: this post has some adult-type themes.

Finally repaired my fence yesterday. It was a pretty labor-intensive little task–I had to dig a new post hole, and then attach fencing. I still have kind of a lousy gate, which I’ve got to do something about, but the fence problem’s been around since last summer, when someone basically pushed one of my posts over to get into my garden for an amorous liaison.

Speaking of. There was another fire in the phragmites while I was working in my garden. Phragmites is the tall “grass” that grows on the edge of the Muddy River. It’s an invasive species and very hard to control. There are “controlled burnings” on occasion, and then there are the, er, uncontrolled burnings, like yesterday. Sometimes it’s people hanging out there, smoking cigarettes—especially when it’s as dry as it has been, and sometimes it’s somebody who sets a fire on purpose, for whatever reason.

Love it or hate it, the phragmites is probably the most popular place in the park. It can get to be ten-twelve feet high, and there are lots of little nooks and crannies where people can meet. And where that’s the case, there’s lots of drugs and sex. Care for some crystal and a blowjob? This is the place!

And this goes on 24-7 this time of year. You’ll always see people milling around down by the Muddy River. Men, of course. It’s a guy thing. And at night, the Fens becomes a different place entirely, and the gardens provide a perfect setting for lovers–or, if not lovers, exactly, at least suckers, blowers, lickers, and fuckers.

Most gardeners in the Fens know what they’re in for. Like I said, most employ some minimal deterrent, like climbing roses—I also planted a couple of those along my new fence yesterday. But the truth is, nothing’s fool-proof, and you can’t obsess over nocturnal garden invasions. It’s gonna happen. All you can hope for is that they’ll be gentle.

4/29/06

Categories: Urban Gardening Strategies, garden snapshots
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One of the interesting challenges of public gardening, particulalry in a high-traffic multi-use urban environment like the Fenway, is security. You probably don’t think about this when you’re walking through the gardens, but it’s definitely an issue for the gardeners.

Vandalism is a concern for anyone who gardens in the city. In the Fenway you can count on your garden being trashed at least once a summer. Which is unfortunate. It may be an eternal truth that every positive notion, urge, or action has its equal and opposite. It seems so, at least. Whatever constructive urges we humans have are at least matched, if not surpassed by the urge we have to destroy things.

I don’t think there’s much to be done about it, to tell you thed truth, because, like it or not, that destructive urge is fundamental to our progress as a species. But the problem is, the urge to destroy is not always married to that urge to rebuild. Sometimes it’s just the urge to destroy, period. And it’s up to someone else to rebuild.

Lucky for everyone, gardeners are used to rearranging, shaking things up and rising to the challenges nature and man throw in their path. That’s such a basic part of what gardening is, that wehen your garden gets trashed, you stand around stunned, scratching your head for a while, and then get back down to work.

Which is not to say that anyone wants to have their garden trashed. But it happens. It’s hard to understand in a rational way. But I suspect those responsible are generally under the influence of something–in the Fens it could be anything from crack to crystal. Not that that makes it less wrong, but somehow it’s more understandable.

Because razorwire is forbidden, and the fences are usually pretty easy to hop, most gardeners try to safeguard the fruits of their labor by planting thorny climbing plants along their fences. I’m off to pick up a couple of climbing rose bushes later this afternoon, which will be the extent of my security measures. The trick is not to make it look like you’re barricading yourself in. You want a natural barrier that whispers: “look, but don’t touch,” rather than screams: “Stay the hell out!”

4/22/06

Categories: gardening tips, hardscaping, Urban Gardening Strategies, garden snapshots
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