Carpinus

If ever there were a respectable, modest and seemly tree it is the Common Hornbeam, Carpinus betulus. It is composed, soigne, adaptable to city conditions and untroubled by disease, pests or outbursts of floral display. Like most things that are valued for their irreproachable decency, the hornbeam usually goes unnoticed, but Dirr judges it "one of the very finest landscape trees." Then, curiously, he says it possesses an "...air of aloofness unmatched by any plant." I'm not sure that I would describe its polish as "aloof," but once you start noticing, you fall into characterizations.

The Common Hornbeam is European. We have a nice native species that is less often seen in the city: Carpinus caroliniana. It's smooth sinewy grey bark is notable.

I was pleased to see saplings of a few other species at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Carpinus orientalis (right) is from southeast Europe and Asia Minor and might tolerate city heat better than C. betulus. The elegant long leaf of C. japonicus (center) attracted me, but Dirr, citing examples from Georgia commented that the leaves were bedraggled by late summer and "the literature has been kinder to the species that its performance warrants." C. coreana (left) has a splendid little leaf.

Of these less common forms, only C. coreana is widely available. Nurseries specializing in bonsai carry it.

Highline

All praise: I had high expectations and it was better than I hoped. There’s been tons of coverage on this, so I’ll just make a few comments I haven’t heard elsewhere.
1) New York has become a city of promenades. We’ve always had the streets, then the parks that were developed along the river fronts, and now, triumphantly, The Highline. Raised to give a new and privileged view of the surroundings, winding its unforced way along the path of the old rail line, sectionally interesting, and lively with incident: it absorbs people without seeming crowded. The pedestrian development along Broadway from Times to Madison Square is similarly promising.
2) The plantings are truly interesting. Some are native (not that many) and many are unfamiliar. A shrub with little whorls of white flowers in racemes: I guessed it was Cyrilla, but when I got home and Iooked it up, it was not. Can anyone identify it? I’ve emailed for a plant list.
3) It will be interesting to see if the management lets the plants compete and sort out their own communities and successions. I dearly hope that is their approach, but I fear the public’s demand for prettiness and grooming may make that difficult. This is an experiment in the public’s acceptance of a new taste in planting. We may be moving away from the artifice of mown lawns, color coordinated bedding plants, and cultivars selected for purple leaves. Other things are possible: Watteau’s satin partygoers, for instance, made love in overgrown parks.
4) The Highline’s palimpsest promotes kind of archeological inquisitiveness. Old infrastructure is exposed. Old building juxtapose new. This is how New York is. Memories arise, of the piers, the Roxy, the old office, the old trannies, watching ice tick seaward on the Hudson…
5) It closes at 10. Some day it will be open all night, and that will be something.

6) But most of all, it comes off and all seems plausible and unforced. That is the hardest thing to do.

spring and all

This is going to look a mess in a month, but now, it's heaven. These daffs, muscari and phlox are nicer in a grassy meadow than a tidy mulched bed.

English

I think of April, May and June as the English season in New York gardens. In the cool sunny days early flowers like violas, pansies, ranunculus, primrose and alyssum bloom in dizzy profusion. These, combined with flowering shrubs and roses, are our opportunity to have an "English garden" that will soften the heart of a minimalist -- if he admits it or not.

So go for it. Plant window boxes with violas and alyssum. (I took this picture last month in Pacific Grove, California, where they have English weather year round.) Time is short, only a couple of months before hot weather comes. Then the cool season flowers flag and it's on to tropicals that the English envy us for.

Besides, you can't plant impatiens yet. It's pansies or nothing.

gloves

Having finished a bit of yardwork on this warm, glorious day, I want to plug a product called Invisible Glove. It's an ointment of soap and glycerin that you rub on your hands and let it dry before you work. Dirt and grime then wash off easily. I originally got it for housepainting, but it's a great gardening product.

Even with Invisible Glove, you should wear work gloves too. But there are some jobs, like planting little violas from pony packs, that are easier without gloves.

I got my tube at the hardware store for $3.99. It's lasted for 2 years.

witchhazel

I saw witchhazel blooming in Gramercy Square today, right on schedule, but still a surprise. It's one of the nicest things about the end of winter. The way the petals curl back around the calyx reminds me snowdrops, which are also in bloom now.
The variety they grown there is deep yellow, 'Arnolds Promise,' I think. There are several esteemed varieties, ranging from pale yellow ('Pallida') through a nice deep rusty orange ('Jelena'). All of them are nice large shrubs with good foliage and fall color.
The only fault of the witchhazels is that they tend to hold onto their dead leaves, which spoils the display of winter flowers. It's a nuisance to have to pull dead leaves from a deciduous tree.
Witchhazels are fragrant, sometimes freely so. I can't help myself from picking a flower, inspecting it closely, and keeping it in my pocket. Warmth seems to bring out the scent.
The illustration is by Charles Rennie Mackintosh, the great Scottish architect and decorator.

in like a lion

Yesterday I did the late winter cleanup: cut back the grasses, cut down the sedums, pruned and trained the roses. I cut the clematis down to a foot tall -- I just didn't feel like fiddling around with the brittle stems, and I don't mind if it blooms a little later.

And then I woke to a real snowstorm. Excellent. As I watched I thought how rare it is to see bright unadulterated white. In the same way that hardly anything is as purely blue as a blue sky hardly anything is as purely white as snow.