By Louisa Alexander
Years before buying my first home in West Philly, I longed
for a real garden. I admired lush
front yards filled with flowers and imagined tending a leafy urban oasis of my
very own.
When home ownership finally became a reality, I started
planning. Had I known then what urban gardening would entail, I might never
have tried.
The garden of my dreams had humble beginnings.
My partner, Lori, and I chose a house that featured a cement
front "yard" surrounded by a rusty chain-link fence. Weeds sprouted from every crevice. Our dated front porch featured jalousie windows and a
horrific stucco job. The tired
facade begged to be hidden by a trellis filled with flowering vines, maybe even
an ornamental tree. And so that
first spring, we trekked to Greensgrow (our friendly local nursery) and bought
full sunflowers, two decorative spruce trees, and a dozen pots to start our
container garden.
The blazing afternoon sun killed everything by the end of
summer.
Unfazed, Lori and I consulted our friend Carrie, a master
gardener, who suggested drought-resistant plants. The following spring, we returned to Greensgrow for an
assortment of sedum and flowering yarrow.
Before long, our container garden had grown to two dozen colorful,
overflowing pots and two towering bamboo plants.
It was time to tear up the concrete slab, which we did with
help from a burly male friend and a couple of sledgehammers. We were ready to celebrate until we
realized that disintegrating brick chunks permeated every inch of the
soil. It took nearly a month to
dig up the broken bits and amend the fallow soil with rich compost.
Our backs aching from weeks of hard labor, we finally
transplanted our container garden into the ground. At about the same time, our block received a grant to plant
trees in front of each house. We faithfully watered our twiggy Newport plum
tree and placed decorative planters on either side of the tree pit. Our scraggly garden began to take
shape. Butterflies and birds took
refuge from the hot asphalt and concrete.
Neighbors complimented our efforts and even asked for gardening
tips. Things were looking up.
Then Philadelphia decided to fight back--and this city fights
dirty.
The toddler next door began toddling into our garden,
stomping plants and wreaking havoc with glee. We retaliated by installing a low border fence. (I considered planting some poison ivy,
but decided that was too evil.)
The low fence didn't prevent the older neighborhood kids
from tossing their football right into the garden, stepping over the fence, and
squashing everything. Tomcats
relieved themselves in the salvia.
Apocalyptic thunder storms with gale-force winds severed tender bamboo
shoots. Someone broke off half of
the Newport plum's delicate branches.
Picking candy wrappers, malt liquor cans, and dime bags from the sedum
became a daily chore.
One Fourth of July weekend, a passerby ripped our butterfly
bush right out of its container.
And on a bright spring day earlier this year, I found a crumpled wig
dangling from the newly sprouted stonecrop. Not just a hair extension or two--an entire wig.
I spent nearly as much time fuming about these incidents as
I did actually enjoying the garden I had worked so hard to establish. Clearly, I concluded, this was Philly's
way of telling me to quit, that all of my time, energy, and money had gone to
waste.
Then a strange thing happened. While picking up trash in a vacant lot across the street
with a few neighbors, the topic of gardening came up. The overgrown lot had been an eyesore for years, attracting
litter and unsavory activities. We
hatched a plan.
A week later, we rented a van and headed to the big box
hardware store, where we bought lumber and cheap perennials. Two dozen neighbors and volunteers
descended on the lot, pulling weeds, building raised vegetable beds, planting
flowers, and even installing a composter.
In just a day, the formerly neglected lot was transformed into a modest
community garden.
Every week it seems a neighbor has planted something new: a
strawberry plant here, a day lily there.
Early in July, Lori and I harvested our first bushel of vegetables. There have been setbacks, no
doubt--twice now someone has run over one of the sidewalk planters a neighbor
built--but slowly, this community project has restored my faith in urban
gardening.
So take note, novice green thumbs.
At every turn, humans, animals, and even Mother Nature will
thwart your attempts to liven up the bleak concrete wasteland. But, don't give
up. Find a supportive community of like-minded gardeners; pick the blunt
wrappers from your flowers, and one day you just might have your own urban
oasis.
Louisa Alexander
still perseveres at gardening in her West Philadelphia neighborhood.