An untended matter still matters.

I struggle to get over there like I mean to.

But I have to change my shoes… and remember what to bring… and convince myself to put on “somscream.”

Then a trip across the state (don’t laugh, it’s a big state) and it’s been ages.

The squash didn’t mind.

I keep telling myself to refresh my tomato pruning knowledge and actually prune them this year. (I likely won’t.)

Just like I ignored the row spacing instructions suggestions for the cowpeas.

Again, the weeds grew just as, if not more voraciously. I am not accustomed to this. It makes me miss my carefully-crafted, cautiously-curated, mostly weed-free gardens of yore.

Yet I remind myself to be grateful for the bountiful fruitful glorious loam that is this soil. The decades of organic gardening, tending, and watering – even if the Bermuda and torpedo and other such abhorrent invaders have yet to be kept at bay.

Anyone know the name of this invader?

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Try and try again.

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.