Up on the Roof

The hanging flowers were the first to go. Last night on the roof, after watering the climbing rose and herbs I unhooked the planters from the rooftop trellis and brought them downstairs in preparation for their disposal. The leaves already browned and brittle looked decrepit in the bright florescent light of our apartment hallway. It was a sad sight to see the flowers we had cared for since May in such a sad state.

The first time I went on our rooftop was during my initial tour of the apartment. When Elle, the friend whose room I took over, led me through the roof access door I didn’t know what to expect. She thrust the door open with a little extra bump from the side hip and unveiled a large roof deck, half the size of the building with a grey water sealant floor and strange metal trellis above. There was a charcoal grill, ladder, broken planters, plastic tropical plants and rolled up bamboo fencing huddled in a corner. Two large trash bins filled with debris and rain water emitted a horrid road kill stench. Christmas lights were strewn across the perimeter railing. It was hard to see and smell past the odds and ends, but lying beyond the railing was a spectacular view of Little Italy rooftops and downtown skyscrapers. I remember thinking at that moment, “There is so much potential here.” Operation rooftop rehab was born.

I moved into the apartment in September so we had to wait a while before it made sense to make investments in the space. My roommates were enthusiastic about the prospect of having herbs, veggies and flowers on the roof. I did a bit of rooftop garden research bolstered by a Sugar Hill Housing Rooftop Farm Project I was working during my spring semester at Columbia- talk about opportune timing. I also bounced plant variety ideas off of Steve Z. (Peace Corps friend who now works for Wave Hill in the Bronx). In April the wretched bins and clutter were cleaned out. The roof was cleaned up and ready for its enhancements.

First came the patio table and chair set. I managed to convince Jay to pretty much assemble the whole thing for us. Then came the lighting. Jeniece removed all the Christmas lights and hung large bulb strands from the trellis. Last came the plants. Again, I managed to convince Jay to partake by chauffeuring in his SUV. We stopped at a couple floral shops inManhattan before determining prices would be much more reasonable on the other side of the Hudson. We crossed the George Washington Bridge to the Jersey Home Depot/Lowes in North Bergen. It was a muggy, rainy, sluggish Sunday but we managed to pick out a slew of delightful plants. We crammed herbs, hanging plants, vines, tomatoes and a climbing rose bush in the back of his SUV and made the trek back to the city. Guatemala to create a lazy spot to sway with a book on a sunny day. The transformation was complete.
The next week Jay and I planted (well… I planted and he did all the heavy lifting). To top it off I hung a hammock from

All summer we hosted BBQs, ate Sunday brunch on the roof, used herbs from the garden in refreshing recipes and enjoyed a few rooftop gatherings.

However, I knew the end was inevitable. The vines we purchased, mandevillas, are annuals, and are bound to wither in the fall as are the Begonias. The herbs, sadly, will likely perish too, although I’ll do some prep in hopes that they will revive next spring. The depression setting in by the loss of our plants is slightly ameliorated by the flowering yellow climbing rose. I bought it as a tribute to my Grandfather. He used to grow roses in his back yard in Minnesota. It gives me a good excuse to get him on the phone and ask for rose pruning advise. The plant is a perennial and will continue to grow for years to come.

This morning I brought down the hanging plants to the trash bin outside our apartment. An Asian woman was mopping the hallway floors and held the building door open for me. As I placed the dead plants in the trash bin she asked me, “Can I have your flower pots?” “Of course,” I replied.

I guess someone is already thinking of next spring.