Archive for the ‘The Winter Garden’ Category

In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with spring. The Weeping Colorado Blue Spruce (Picea pungens ‘the blues’) is one of the bluest of conifers. Blue conifers are true beauties. –Andy Warhol Advertisements


In which The Gay Recluse is increasingly obsessed with spring. The garden at the end of winter is not exactly a joy to behold: branches are bent or broken, evergreens are pale, and even the ground — littered with dead leaves and twigs — seems inhospitable. But a closer examination reveals signs of life: the […]


In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with bamboo. We planted bamboo a few years ago in a cement planter we constructed along the back of our garden. The concept is that it’ll grow about 100 feet tall and block out the apartment buildings behind us. It’s also hardy to Zone 4, which means […]


In which The Gay Recluse watches teevee. There are times when we cannot believe how long we’ve been alive, and concurrently, how long — assuming a regular life span — we still have to go. Though admittedly it’s a thought that most often arrives during an afternoon meeting at work, it also crosses our mind […]


In which The Gay Recluse maybe becomes slightly more technically adept. Yesterday we took some footage of the snowstorm — or actually the aftermath — and made two vidoes with commentary. We had some technical diffs, though, so wanted to post them again in case anyway tried to click through and was harshly rebuffed! 1) […]


In which The Gay Recluse vlogs. It’s been almost a year since we posted any video, but we decided to give it another shot: after all, we now have a Powerbook, which we were planning to use for all sorts of clever and witty entertainment. As you’ll see, we still have a long way to […]


In which The Gay Recluse retreats to our garden in Washington Heights. As it has done for thousands of years — and not just in our garden — the hellebore has sent forth the most beautiful, delicate blossoms at this improbable juncture, as if to taunt winter into sending one last storm. (Let’s hope nobody […]