Prospect: A Year in the Park

Sea of greens

The sugar snap pea avalanche has arrived! I've been snacking on them incessantly. Pulling the string out of the pod is intensely pleasurable if you are as obsessive as I am.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Quadriga, as seen from flower-pot level. I love the juxtaposition of these noble steeds in the sky atop their arch of triumph...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...gazing down at all the rural goodness and its assorted celebrants.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GREENMARKET DOG OF THE DAY

It was a dark and stormy night.  A pit bull followed a man down the street. She was emaciated and wounded; her rescuers believe she may have been used as a "bait" dog in fighting rings. But the story of Maggie, who was rehabilitated and adopted, has a happy ending. Although she can still be a little too assertive with other dogs, said her owner, this girl is so gentle she snorgles babies.

 

 

 

   Abandoned pit bulls fill our Brooklyn animal shelters, in desperate need of homes; their new owners sing their praises as loving and loyal. Maggie agrees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pinkmarket, bluemarket

Before sampling the madness of yesterday's GoogaMooga Festival, I did make it to the Greenmarket at Grand Army Plaza. Rhubarb was still a painful $5 a pound (it takes a lot of raw rhubarb to make a pot of stewed rhubarb, and I cannot get through spring without a pot of stewed rhubarb). However, local strawberries were "down" to 2 boxes for $10. Sigh.

What caught my eye were the flowers. It's a great time of year for tender, old-fashioned ones that few commercial florists ever carry. Above: Dame's Rocket, a.k.a. Hesperis. In my garden, this flower refuses to grow anywhere except between the cracks of cement; there is nothing like a dame.

I believe these are "Bachelor's Buttons," a.k.a. Cornflowers. (Apparently they grow wild in some cornfields.) Now when someone describes "cornflower-blue eyes," you can verify.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don't know what these are. If I had a SmartPhone, could I get an app that would let me wave my phone over a blossom and identify it? If you know what these are, leave a comment and let me know!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GREENMARKET DOG OF THE DAY

The fringed sausage is definitely named Banjo. Her big buddy is named something serious that begins with G...Grimsby? Anyway, they are great friends. It's nice to know a friend has your back...literally.

 

Blue sky over Church Avenue

Just a block south of the Parade Grounds of Prospect Park, Church Avenue has slumbered for years, a strip of scruffy retail nothingness. But word on the street is that Church is poised for a long-awaited rebirth, and today, its first street fair looked like a wild success.

Meet some of my neighbors on "our side" of the park.

    

In the middle is Dr. Courtney Perry and Geneva (a rescued friend and patient) in front of her new veterinary practice, PAWSitive. She's a Wellesley and Cornell grad who's come home to Ditmas Park, and we're very glad.

   

More dog excellence: a Noble Pitbull and a Chillin' Husky, both rescues. (Note: There is, yet to come, a Greenmarket Dog of the Day!)

Another eagerly welcomed newcomer to the strip is Am Thai Bistro, whose absurdly gorgeous staff were dishing up curry puffs, coconut rice balls and spring rolls.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sensory overload for small fry. Sometimes good...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...sometimes not so much.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The vendors were the usual suspects (including sausages and crew socks, those street-fair essentials), but there were also Latin-themed totes and tiny suits with ties.

 

   

Robopuppy? Copter-on-a-stick? Cheap machine gun?

 

 

Congratulations to the Church Avenue BID, whose efforts to breathe life into this languishing corridor have begun to bear fruit. A coffee shop called Lark is in the works,  joining mom-and-pop ventures like Shayna's roti shop and La Huasteca, so wander on down after a soccer match or a tennis game; Cortelyou Road, look to your laurels. And chefs, merchants, countrymen, come on down; as you can see from the montage of fine novelty wares above, Church Avenue lends a magical glow to any merchandise.

GREENMARKET DOG OF THE DAY

Behold the charming Bica, strolling with an old friend of mine at Saturday's Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket. He is a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, and his name is a slang term used around Lisbon for espresso.  Appropriately enough, he enjoyed licking the foam from my latte.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In search of Happy Light in 2012

This winter, I'm throwing the book at SAD; I even bought a Verilux "HappyLight"®, before which I slumped in the frigid pre-dawn this morning. But I'm also determined to use Prospect Park as my full-spectrum light therapy...and to recommit to the daily park visits that prompted this chronicle three years ago. New Year's Day was spent in the HappyDark of the movies and a German restaurant, but on Monday afternoon I dragged Spouse to see the sun's last rays gild the lake.

 

 

 

 

 

And this morning, I braved the bitter wind to see the sun peer over the treeline behind the Long Meadow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The dogs were already out in force, jubilant in the bitter air. (Which reminds me: My limited edition of Park Bark: At Play with the Dogs of Brooklyn, a photo celebration of the park's dogs and their owners, is getting close to sold out! Thanks to all who ordered a copy for a holiday present, and if you'd like to get in an order (Valentine's Day approacheth), by all means go here and let me know if you'd like a dedication written on the flyleaf.)

 

 

 

 

 

WACKY TREE OF THE DAY

Monday afternoon, I spied what looked like a bunch of lime-colored, corrugated softballs in the leaves, under a thicket of thorny branches. One clung to the tree overhead. I struggled through the thorns and pocketed one to identify later. As I suspected, it was an Osage orange (Maclura pomifera). I've heard of these in the park but never found one before.

 

Here are some cool facts about Osage oranges:

* They are related to the mulberry, and are not citruses. (The fruits supposedly smell a little orangey, but mine didn't.)

* Few animals except horses eat the fleshy fruit (technically called a drupe), which is inedible and mildly poisonous to humans--but an extinct ground sloth may once have relished it as a slothalicious treat. Some folks also claim bug-repellent properties for the fruit, which exudes a milky sap (as I discovered when I sliced it open).

* Its nicknames include "hedge apple" and "horse apple." Grown as a hedge, it predated barbed wire as a way to fence in cattle.

* The tree's wood has been prized by bow-makers dating back to the Comanches for its flexibility and strength; early French settlers called it bois d'arc, or "bow wood."

* Merriwether Lewis sent cuttings of Osage orange to Thomas Jefferson.

Happy New Year...see you in the park!

Solstice lookout

Sunset, the day of the solstice; the sun was vanishing behind the buildings of Windsor Terrace by 3:30 p.m. I wanted, Druid-like, to capture its last rays, so I headed up Lookout Hill, the tallest point in Prospect Park.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lookout Hill is one of those spots in the park that one is warned against visiting alone, but when leafless, it seems exposed as well as remote. Condom wrappers and other nasty bits attest to its seclusion, but even in waning daylight I felt fairly safe with the occasional jogger...and an intrepid mom and kids who were using the hill as a family Stairmaster.

 

 

 

 

 

The flattish, circular top of Lookout Hill would be a great place for a Wiccan ceremony to worship the distant sun, but for a while I was completely alone. To the south, I could see...good grief, was that the Coney Island parachute jump? It was. Turning a few degress to my left, I looked down on the lake and away to the erstwhile fields of Flatbush where we live.

 

 

 

 

 

As I left the park, the festive decor glowed in the shadows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BARKING MAD THANKS!

...to all who have ordered a copy of Park Bark: At Play with the Dogs of Brooklyn, my photo homage book to the canines of Prospect Park and their owners.   Go here for easy PayPal ordering...and remember, Valentine's Day is coming up fast!

'Park Bark': A love story

Meet the Book!

Just (as they say) in time for Christmas, comes Park Bark: At Play with the Dogs of Brooklyn. It's the first book of photography based on my three years of exploring Prospect Park. Of all the subjects I considered, the dogs won, hands-down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I say in the introduction, "The idea was to visit Brooklyn's magnificent Prospect Park every day and share my discoveries. Among many treasures, from wildlife to historic architecture, I kept discovering...dogs. And to my delight, they kept discovering me, despite my being a 'cat person.' I've never had a dog, I don't speak dog, but the park's cavalcade of canines bowled me over with exuberant delight."

 

Many of the 17 portraits in the book are of "Greenmarket Dogs of the Week," a gallery of irresistible characters I've met at Grand Army Plaza. There are also lovely shots of the Long Meadow, Dog Beach, the Nethermead, and other spaces where Brooklynites cut loose on two legs or four. The book is a 5-by-7-inch hardcover with lovely color reproduction; it is $16, every copy will be signed by yours-truly-the-noted-blogger, and a bunch of copies of this very limited edition (also designed by herself) are already spoken for, so if you want to tuck this in the stocking of a dog lover, Brooklynite (current or past or future), or Prospect Park fan, please let me know FAST and I'll get one to you.

Right now, there are three ways to own a signed copy of Park Bark:

1.  Come to the home-studio sale being given by artist Karen Friedland and me this weekend, Dec. 17 and 18, at 190 Marlborough Road (near Beverly Road) in Ditmas Park; hours are 1 to 6 p.m. both days.

2. Go to Tenth Leper Press, my independent bookie-wook project, and order via PayPal.

3. Contact me at brenda (at) tenthleper (dot) us with special requests.

And if you can prove that one of the dogs in the book is yours: your copy is free!

Through the mist

Henry James may have thought "summer afternoon" were the two most beautiful words in the language, but I'll suggest "autumn mist" as being up there. I have been using a broken toe and a stupid Velcro boot thing as an excuse not to walk in the park (what was my excuse all summer, before I broke it?), but was lured to the Long Meadow.

Remember that perennial school assignment to collect some fall leaves and glue them to construction paper? I still want to do that every year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the distance, the off-leash dogs capered like happy ghosts...

and at closer range, did more corporeal things.

 

I've decided that, if Daughter goes away to college, I will finally get us a dog. (I tell her it will replace her and will be given her room.) Now I mentally audition dogs as they pass, preparing for the day. One thing is certain: It will be a bigger dog, not a little yapster.

Near Bartel-Pritchard Circle, a big party tent was being decorated for tonight's "Fall Bash" park fundraising gala. Too rich for our wallet at $250 a ticket (still available at the door tonight!), but I peeked inside and saw some sort of fancy stage-dressing to create a faux-park; looks like the philanthropists will have fun.

And they won't have to get their shoes as muddy as I got my Velcro bootie; a path was being laid down for them, to be covered with rolls of fake turf.

 

Color saturation

At today's Grand Army Plaza Greenmarket, pumpkin selection frenzy was at peak intensity among the Park Slope young'uns.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Global warming? Row cover technology? Whatever, I've never seen zucchini, peppers and eggplant look so good so late in the year. Ratatouille season is running right up to Hallowe'en.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Multicolored mountains of carrots sprawled in that October sunshine that makes everything feel a bit like a hallucination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 These tiny purple berries scarcely look real. They're actually called beautyberries. 

 

GREENMARKET DOG OF THE DAY

Just in time for Pit Bull Awareness Day, here is Oliver, a rescue boy who's about 8 years old.  He lives happily with two Chihuahuas and a kittycat, and loves strangers; when I leaned down, I was rewarded with a big ol' bully kiss. Shelters overflow with these wonderful dogs, abandoned by irresponsible owners. Oliver is a great example of what gentle and magnificent companions they can be.

 

Snow frisking

Yikes, morning sun on fresh powder. Makes your ears stand up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the lakeshore near Wellhouse Drive, the breeze rustled some dried leaves and samaras, and sighed through the stand of phragmites. Sparrows made little "chipping" sounds deep in the reeds.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A snow anaconda wound up a tree trunk, and a snowcap topped a nest. (Presumably the occupants were away, or just hadn't shoveled yet.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am not a winter lover, but there are a few blue-and-white, sparkling mornings when it wins me over. The weekend we got engaged, in a snow-blanketed inn in the Poconos, was a morning exactly like this one, when the cold was a bracing delight, and anything seemed possible.

Trooping the color

Last Thursday, the lake in Prospect Park...from a path I never found before. After all this time, there are still discoveries to make. Spouse and Daughter were both on holiday, making it a festive family hike.

The science of cat-lapping may be getting all the buzz, but this guy plunged in for some basic canine guzzling near the Binnen Water.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Near the bridge, silky seeds prepared to take flight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's amazing that this hollowed-out tree has survived the year's tree-slaying storms.

 

 

Nearby, another troubled trunk allows for a game of peek-a-boo.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On this balmy Veterans' Day, the Marylanders' monument was a jarring reminder that we stood on one of the first great American battlegrounds. 

 

The ribbon on the wreath said "Bravery," but the wind had blown it askew.