The most rare helper of mine thought to play in the water she had asked to put on the peas. Soaked and turning hues of blues, we packed up our tools, turned off the hoses, and…
Ack! What is wrong with my cabbage?! What on earth is happening to that leaf in the middle? From farther away I’d seen the dark spots and thought the harlequin beetles were back. A little closer and no…
Just a sick little leaf from a far off tree.
There are some downsides to plots in a community garden. There are some upsides.
Taking a walk about for a stretch after a lot of weeding and we come upon this party.
I grabbed a container, captured as many as I could, and when drowning them without soap was futile, dumped them on some rocks to then squash.
I had seen one lonesome one on a cabbage of mine the previous week. After disposing of it and checking for eggs, I’d wondered where the rest were…
Flu is such a short word. Flu. Small. Simple.
Influenza sounding more flora. More weighty. Simply more.
I’m not sure I’ve ever been so under the weather. I lost days to it before losing track of what day it was.
The rain timed itself as keenly as it can this time of year.
Which did nothing to mature the palates of my pests from pea shoots and brassicae greens toward henbit or this star-shaped mystery.
Perhaps next year.
I see you. You think I don’t. I see you. Creep.
I’ll watch. You’ll turn.
When you pull the thistle before it blooms (and before it chokes out the dill) only to spot lady bug eggs on the underside…
Back in the garden you go, little larvae buffet.
Tis the season for growing compost piles, for weeding unwanted seeds from the stockpile, for starting a wishlist for next year and reflecting on the season’s passing.
I think it may be the last year for the raised beds. And I think I’ll help them go. They harbor ants nests I can’t beat back or cajole away. They permit sweet potatoes to bunker under the walls, lessening the harvest and sowing the next generation of ground cover in the same allowance.
But to do so would require remapping the irrigation installed by our predecessors. And that is not in the time budget between now and the early sowings of spring when we’ll try for more peas and beans and carrots and things.
So perhaps another year, I’ll eke out of these tiring lengths, and perhaps next winter we’ll be moving, or the kids will be old enough to require less of my ship’s side to barnacle upon which will both ease and sadden my heart, and also increase the time budget a smidge, methinks. We shall see.
So the beds will rest, the compost will grow, and the caterpillars will continue to feast like royalty upon my cauliflower dreams.