7 Green city The persistence of urban gardens
It was a hot, muggy August afternoon. As I emerged from the subway there was little to help me orientate myself, apart from an overhead bridge, traffic lights, a large crossroads and a very busy, long road. I took my chances, turned left and embarked along a dusty and neglected sidewalk, pitted with potholes. To my right many lanes of traffic, trucks and cars roared past. To my left were a series of small businesses showing little sign of prosperity; abandoned forecourts and the ubiquitous used car lots. I looked up at the buildings ahead and found no sign of the roof-top farm my New York guidebook had promised I would find. Exhausted after 20 minutes of shadeless walking, I asked a woman waiting at a bus stop where it might be. After some thought she suggested I try the café. Suspending disbelief, I found it close by, inserted into the ground floor of an old, but very substantial, industrial building, seven storeys high. I went in and asked. The man behind the counter directed me to the back of the café. From there I was to turn left, pass the cloakrooms and continue until I reached a set of lift doors in the lobby of a different company. I followed the instructions, went along a dark winding corridor, which eventually ended up at the back of a very smart entrance lobby, found the lift, entered and pressed the button for floor eight. Eight floors later the doors opened and I was instantly expelled into brilliant sunlight. As soon as my eyes had adjusted I realised I was standing in the middle of Brooklyn Grange Farm. It stretched the length of the roof, full of colourful rows of fruit and vegetables, tended by a team of gardeners. Coupled with this was the most spectacular view across to Manhattan, lying beyond the parapet wall that hides all traces of the farm from below.
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