Panthy's Garden

It’s almost December and I’m still walking around in a t-shirt. Looks like we have an Indian Summer on our hands and by “Indian” I mean the Bombay kind of Indian. (It’s unusually hot out there, get it?)

I have no doubt that winter will ambush us suddenly and quietly like that man in the park with just a long coat on. Today it’s warm, but next week, it’s going to be winter time.

Hipsters will no longer be sweating through all that awesome winter gear they’ve been seasonally obligated to wear and that can mean only one thing: it’s finally time to plant garlic. I’m going to hold off, with my roof being under construction and all. But you shouldn’t!

After reading my account of fumbling through my first garlic grow the fine folks over at Kaufmann Mercantile have seen fit to seek my advice on growing it. Big mistake. Head over there and peep the fully article for a refresher and the very handsome photos they’ve paired with it. 

Have a gander and see for yourself.

What’s been going on up in Panthy’s Garden? I’m glad you asked. Let’s have a look shall we?

Thanks to a persistent roof leak, we’ve had to get drastic. Completely-rip-up-the-roof-deck-drastic.

But despite how intense this looks, on the scale of whoop this is closer to no big whoop than it is to big whoop. As you can see the contents of the garden have been carefully crowded into the front half of the garden.

It is possible that sometime this week the weight of all my plants will pull the front of the building off, giving passersby a doll house view into my building where no doubt, someone will be caught washing dishes naked, or playing XBox with huge headphones on. Either way, wicked embarrassing.

If this was going down in August I’d be sobbing too hard to update you. But with every living thing in the garden nodding off into a wintery slumber, I couldn’t give two cares. Plus, St. Whatshisface is carefully watching over the last of my intentionally growing edibles; the lettuce trays.

God-willing, when spring arrives the roof will be fixed for good. And Panthy’s will be ready for action. In times like these, I pour myself a cup of chamomile tea, dump some whiskey in it and remember that great seasonal mantra of Thanksgiving: don’t let the turkeys get you down.

Actually, not quite. Love of facial hair and prominent eyewear? Yes. Obsession with local, organic, awesome food? Yes. It might be Brooklyn if you replaced Mayor Bloomberg with a bicycle and swapped 30% of the street parking with hen houses. But that’s where the similarities stop.

There’s lots of things Portland has that Brooklyn don’t: a spooky elementary school converted into a complex of bars and restaurants, an overbearing deference to cyclists, and second run movie theaters that serve beer along with three dollar movies. 

The beards run strong there, as strong as their love for indoor shuffle board. I was told my beard looked “well-manicured” and I don’t think it was a compliment.

But this ain’t a blog about beards or shuffleboard or who jumped into my photos. This is about rooftop gardening. 

My pal mentioned he had one above his office. I could’ve imagined it in my head, a triple story temple of all things holy to hipsters: a roof garden, on top of a cool office for a high-end cycling apparel company ON TOP of a fucking plant nursery… with chickens. And an episode of Portlandia was just filmed in the backyard. All of which turned out to be completely true, even the Portlandia thing.

We rolled in on him finishing a PBR at his desk, surrounded by bikes and gear that I’d kill another man for, a nice man who didn’t deserve it. And then he took me to the roof. 

The owner wasn’t on hand to explain but it looked to be a green roof of succulents, sedums, and other tough-as-nails plants. Unlike my fleet of junky tomatoes, these guys were aimed at soaking up rainwater and insulating the building. And they looked great, even in their waining state. 

The view off the back was a reminder that this roof was just a tiny part of the bigger operation. And the view of the horizon seemed to hint at a great deal more of this type of thing going on throughout the city. 

Neighborhood after neighborhood of craftsman bungalows had gardens to match their charming, carefully selected paint schemes. It was downright impressive. 

So no, this ain’t New York. The police here don’t seem prone to tackling you off your bike. Gardening is more the rule than the exception. Raising chickens and riding your bike constantly is just what you do here. Growing a tomato on your roof in Portland is not a statement. It’s just nice.

It’s like the war has been fought and won there; a city filled with courteous, environmentally-minded people who have a harmless but strange appetite for innovative donuts and exotic dancers. I can’t hate it, not even close. But without the struggle what’s it all for? Oh, it’s for this: living in a godddamn urban paradise.

Photos by The Tear Sheet Project

When I stuck my face into a giant grass yeti under the Manhattan Bridge a few months ago I had no idea I was so close to urban green greatness. 

I was standing inside one of the latest installations of Brooklyn artist duo Mosstika, comprised of Edina Tokodi and József Vályi-tóth. Together they apply the sweet green power of plant life to the gritty surfaces of our fine city. Uh… like this insane portrait made entirely of succulent plants:

Stumbling around the internuts I found a few other examples of and their green artistic exploits: grass rabbits and deer quietly grazing on construction barricades.   

Or some grass hunting trophies: 

I beam with pride seeing any act of guerrilla gardening; seed bombs, hijacked plots, you name it. But gardening graffiti? This is next level shit. It’s subtle but very clear. It says to me “don’t forget the wild things, they’re all around you.”

Read more on the Artist Site