along the Grand Boulevard from 175 Street to Fordham Road.
Some have been planted among the new shrubs in the medians, and others in the new tree pits, sixty trees all told, a mixture of honey locusts, English oaks, gingkos, swamp white oaks, willow oaks and zelkovas.
Checking out the work of the landscaping crew, I noted that the planting soil seemed to be mounded a bit high around the two-and-a-half-inch trunks, but I was assured that topsoil would be added to the proper level when all is said and done, as well as a mosaic of cobblestones.
It’s a gift from the city to this section of the Bronx, the saplings, which as they grow will gradually increase the canopy cover in this beleaguered place. The Nature Conservancy recently released a study of gotham’s green infrastructure and found that while its famous canyons had gotten shadier by about two percent between 2010 and 2017, the benefits varied a lot by area.
By the way, planting a single New York street tree costs the Parks Department $2,700. You heard that correctly. The price tag has been precisely totaled. Merry Christmas! Eric Adams, our mayor-elect, has said he favors funding parks during his tenure to the tune of one percent of the city’s budget – double what it is now. That is incredibly paltry, actually pathetic.
The Grand Concourse celebrates the holiday season in its own way.
As I passed on the sidewalk, a guy shouted out, “Hey, they took away his legs!” Note the scooter — that’s how Santa makes his deliveries in these precincts.
You could add to your at-home creche with a dreamy small person, in artistic circles called a putto. Or the cupids could just wreak some romantic havoc in your placid life.
Something incredible happened as I walked the site. I passed a pigeon, which unlike any pigeon I have ever seen was not alive.
Perhaps at Xmas she will be resurrected.
I was also introduced to a young man’s early present — they couldn’t very well hide this animal under the tree!
Legend is the name of this beautiful brindle creature, who romped over to me and softly mouthed my fingers. He’s a one-year-old puppy, obviously quite spoiled in his slippers and jersey. A similar pit bull is exactly what I would like for Xmas. But first I must abide by the instructions in a Concourse furniture shop window.
Is that adage at one with the Christmas spirit? Not sure. But if I work hard enough, perhaps my canine dreams will come true.