In the dim and deep grey-blue of early morning I saw the beast ambling along the tree line and thought myself silly for thinking two people could be running out there. Six points, eight? I flicked on the light, startling the animal then twisting its neck backward and up to come to terms with the sudden contrast. We stood absolutely still for a minute, then I turned out the light. He trotted across the creaking snow and I laid back in bed to wait out the last half hour before the four-thirty alarm.
Arriving home after two hours of airport, three hours of airplane, two hours of subway, and nine-point-five hours of work, under the red-yellow street lamps, a temperature fixed above fifty, a coat unnecessarily heavy for coastal, Mid-Atlantic December, I surveyed the garden. A rescue had taken place; a reader, a Hudson Clove customer, Toby, had come at some point to do the digging, the bagging, the carrying, and replanting in a new garden and I thought,
good, one less thing.
I have since extracted the climber rose, climbing hydrangea, and my grandmother's tea, all hastily spaded and ripped from the earth, delivered to their temporary garden in Williamsburg, but not without acknowledging the irony of saving on the purchase of new plants by driving 2500 miles to attempt their relocation.
There are still several plants in the garden and they are free for the taking. Email me: nycgarden@gmail.com.
It's more than just "moving" your plants to your new home. It's about history - some of it family history. Your grandmother's tea rose is literally irreplaceable. There's nothing in my garden that I treasure more than a small rose I brought from my aunt's garden. It's a reminder of her, but more a testament to generations of women in my family who have cherished - and nurtured - plants. 2,500 miles is a small price to pay.
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