A Year in the Life of a Brooklyn Garden: From Eviction to Eden

On July 5, peak growing season, Marie Viljoen’s landlord announced the Harlem terrace garden—just profiled by the New York Times—would be destroyed for renovation. What followed was a frantic year of dismantling, moving, and rebuilding a new 1,000-square-foot Brooklyn garden from bare concrete and weeds. This diary captures the monthly rhythm of loss, labor, and renewal.

July–August: Dismantling and Moving

Scarlet runner beans, lablab, gloriosa lilies (tubers carefully saved), and four-foot jewelweed were cut or transplanted. A U-Haul carried pots; professional movers handled 50-pound planters. The new north-facing space: two-thirds concrete slab, one-third weed-covered earth, with only daylilies and Solomon’s seal.

September: Soil and Structure

Weeds attacked before boxes unpacked. A sprawling spirea ousted; spade broken; rocks removed. Blueberries planted in-ground. Birch poles ordered for a new trellis. Daylilies and Solomon’s seal divided. Soil test revealed elevated lead and low pH. Crushed oyster shells (six pounds) added to raise pH and immobilize lead—danger is from dust, not plant uptake.

October–December: Planting for Future

Stones cleared (a bathroom sink unearthed). Perennials planted: angelica, echinacea, calamintha, agastache, veronicastrum, Joe-Pye weed. Cold-weather greens sown. Stinging nettles, sweetfern, Jerusalem artichokes for tall privacy. Allium and camassia bulbs planted.

January–March: Winter Work

Winter sun never clears the building—constant shadow. Crushed eggshells added to vegetable plot. Row markers ordered. Solomon’s seal blooms. Nettles harvested. Spinach, fingerling potatoes planted.

April–June: Harvest and Joy

Alliums flower. Surprise irises open. Vegetable plot supplies all salad needs. Long wooden table, sun umbrella for evening privacy. Jasmine tobacco and Formosa lilies scent evenings. Fireflies dance. “What would you have said,” her husband asks, “if I’d told you then we’d be sitting here, watching fireflies in a new garden?”

Gardeners live a split existence: hands in dirt, heads in the future. A year after bad news, the garden is becoming. “I’ll take the fireflies. Send hummingbirds.”