It started with the accusations of sex behind the back pond. Of late-night parties that begot stitches and adultery. Favoritism. Misspending. Bullying.
Since then, the police have been called, e-mail access has been revoked and Robert’s Rules of Order repeatedly cited. Expletives have been tossed around. Herb lovers have nearly come to blows.
A toolshed burned to the ground; the word arson was uttered.
So goes life these days at the Roosevelt Island Garden Club, where palace intrigue surrounding the garden presidency has grown as abundant as the daffodils, organic vegetables and lazy cats that populate this speck of earth in the middle of the New York City map.
This is no garden-variety garden dispute. After all, in a neighborhood where most people are renters, a patch of flowers and shrubbery to call one’s own is no insignificant thing — especially when the waiting list for such a plot can outstrip the lines for the most coveted kindergartens.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Drama at the Roosevelt Island Garden Club