I’m no expert, but knowing my neighborhood’s trees and flowers by name makes me feel grounded
Eighteen months ago, I adopted a dog. Now I’m out on the streets of Brooklyn with my hound mix for at least an hour a day, strolling and wrestling discarded chicken bones from her jaws. You notice a lot when you visit the same few blocks over and over: which avenues are the quietest, or when the rusty scaffolding around a nearby building vanishes overnight.
Most of all, I love to admire neighborhood greenery. I’m an adoring fan of the tulips, peonies and dogwood flowers that burst forth in the spring. Yet I quickly realized how limited my plant vocabulary was. Yes, I knew that was a silver birch, because of its papery bark. But what was that taller tree, glossy and looming, or that pale shrub with tiny, ornate leaves? I grew up in Australia, where the vegetation is pretty different from that of the US north-east, and I really hadn’t made an effort to learn about the locals. It felt disrespectful, to say the least.
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