So where have your trees been?
Moving day, again.
What I left out of the story about my trees’ fire escape eviction is how devastating it felt. The loss hit like whiplash. I didn’t realize how much time I spent with my trees each day and what that time meant. Then there was guilt. Braying bureaucrats aside, I had no one to blame but myself, and all I could do was ask favors of strangers.
Even after sorting a decent mid-term solution—renting space in a neighbor’s courtyard and coming by to water—I was determined to work something out with my building. We’re all reasonable people acting in good faith, we can figure out a compromise, right? Things finally came to a head a few weeks ago and…long story short, boy was I naive!
The rental arrangement wasn’t ideal either. For understandable security reasons I could only enter the garden with an escort from the building, and I always felt guilty taking up my neighbor’s time. It was a rough squirrel neighborhood, too; they decapitated my viburnum and nearly uprooted my larch from its pot. The real issue, though, was sunlight. The courtyard didn’t get enough. It took a while to track the light and notice the effect in my trees, but eventually the signs were clear that they wouldn’t thrive.
Finally, luck went my way: my back-and-forth with my building came to its unpleasant end around the same time that I realized my trees were starving for sun. After months of ambiguity the clarity was refreshing: My trees needed to go and there was no way I could keep them at home.
When I first realized my trees would have to leave my apartment, I went into crisis management alert. I cast a wide net and caught more sympathetic ears than I expected. But the particulars of bonsai make for a tricky arrangement: I’m looking for a private space with lots of sun where I can keep plants that you can’t touch. Oh and I need to come by every few days to water. No, I need to be the one to water, because each of these pots is a different size with soils of varying moisture retention.
On sleepless nights I panned over my neighborhood in the satellite view of Google Maps, scanning for possible rooftops or rear lots. At one point I seriously considered renting an outdoor parking space.
Unhealthy as it was, the obsession paid off. It was on Street View that I noticed the nice planters outside The Queensboro, a neat New American, But Make It Queens restaurant 10 minutes from my apartment. I once interviewed the chef and co-owner, Tony Liu, for a story where he mentioned that he was big into plants. I later learned his that dad has a whole bonsai collection. Plus I liked his food. So I asked a mutual friend for an intro to chat.
Tony and his partners were very down, even after I disappeared on them for months while feuding with my building. They’re my kind of plant nerds—ones who grow tomatoes for cooking and hops flowers for fun—and they’ve spread their enthusiasm to the front-of-house staff, who didn’t blink twice about this weird arrangement and seem to get a kick out of the trees.
The outdoor planters get strong afternoon light, and since they’re outdoors, I can swing by at off hours to check the soil and water without bothering anyone. I also like that the trees get to be in public view. None of my trees are worth showing off at an exhibit, but what good can they do locked away from human eyes?
A few weekends ago I moved in.
I buried the pots in the planters and wired them in place, then added a top cover of mulch. This is coincidentally how many bonsai people provide winter protection for their trees, which is nice upgrade from the drafty third-floor fire escape mine had to deal with last year. The wire is a meager attempt at theft prevention, though I’m sure that if someone is determined, they’d figure out a way. Plant vandalism is a real thing, so this time I’m going in aware that loss is inevitable and this plan may come to bite me.
In the meantime, the walks to check on the trees have become a welcome part of my routine. People tell me they get dogs for this reason—a life to care of that forces you outside two or three times a day. Instead I’ve found myself dancing on the border of public and private space to pursue an esoteric and expensive hobby that I’m not very good at.
I love it.
Tree reading
My pal Michael Snyder has written a wonderful article about the evolution of bonsai aesthetics, and the prose is delicious: “a new, expressionist style that both questions and embraces the constraints of this centuries-old botanical tradition, exploring the immensity not just of nature but of human experience itself.” [T]
How a guy accidentally killed the oldest tree to ever live. [Smithsonian Magazine]
I'm so sorry you had to relocate your trees. I would hate to have to send my plants elsewhere and I'm not even half as attached to them! I hope they flourish with all of the additional attention in their new home.