It hasn’t been the year for squash. Last year, The Year of the Squash, I almost nearly tired of them. Almost. Nearly. But not even close.
A few grey zucchini in the spring. Ten crook neck plants picked up by my love at the local feed store. They try. They try to live, they try to die, they try to bloom, and finally, they try to almost nearly set fruit.
And then they don’t.
And a pepper pick-me-up.
Almost on cue, the garden is packing it in for the summer. The tomato vines are drying up. Some fruit ripens on brown vines. Other fruit dehydrates where it hangs.
With some help and a helper’s chipper, any soil exposed by the dying crops is now mulched by the gift of a fallen limb.
It may be a bit early, but I couldn’t help myself. I have the first of the fall crop transplants sown in plugs in the laundry room.
The outdoor oven (aka the weather) has begun. Perhaps I’ll set aside some corn stalks for Halloween. They’re drying where they stand quite nicely.
The largest tomato I’ve grown to date. I hear it was tasty. Some seeds are drying as I type.
“On Tuesday, when there was popcorn rain, we moved away from the windows and we moved into the libing room to be away from the windows.”
I hope I never call hail “hail” again.
Speaking of popcorn, the colors of seeds and silk are inverse from our sweet corn.