Can't Hate On A Good Carrot
I bombed through my local farmer’s market if for no other reason than to remind myself of how much their vegetables kick the shit out of my own. Which makes sense; these beauties are grown on a farm by professional farmers who spend their entire day raising them. Because it’s their job. ‘Cause they’re farmers. Are we clear on this? I can’t hate on these heaps of...
It Just Keeps On Keepin' On
During a groggy pre-work inspection of Panthy’s I accidentally photographed myself while trying to capture the nuances of my dumb salad tray. Once I figured out how to operate my iPhone properly I turned its lens on plants that I didn’t intentionally plant but that I did intend to take pictures of. A self-seeded ground cherry is making use of an empty pot of dirt and a tomato plant...
Happy Little Trees
My friend Hannah spotted this little fella here in Brooklyn near a community garden. Her caption: “Hi tree friend. I like you.” How could you not?! Get a load of this punim! I think putting faces on just about anything that doesn’t normally have one is hilarious. But by putting a face on a tree you are knowingly or not, pushing a larger environmental agenda: “TREES ARE...
My garden has no idea what time of year it is. Honestly, I’m not even sure I know either. I woke up this morning in a bus shelter in Far Rockaway in a Batman costume so maybe there’s a few other things I need to sort out first. But when I take a gander around Panthy’s Garden, it’s obvious, there’s some serious confusion happening, not just in my own muddled head. ...
The Foxfire Book
My buddy Andrew is way ahead of the curve. He was rocking Vans and Ray-Bans at least six months before hip hop tributes were made for both. (Please feel free to play either for the duration of this article). If Andrew’s musical tastes are any indication of the future, Captain Beefheart remixes featuring Rick Ross and MIA will soon be sweeping the nation. But this isn’t a giant...
Brooklyn's Oldest Living Thing
I’ve found what I believe to be Brooklyn’s oldest living thing, barely beating out the god-like, bearded gentleman who hangs out at the laundromat and wears only white stuff. It’s not a person, it’s a tree, that grows out of a chimney. It is not the subject of a popular book. I don’t want to tell you exactly where it is, for fear that well-meaning scientists will...