No surprise to anyone in the southern Highlands that this has been an extraordinarily wet and cool springtime. I’ve been busy with lots of writing and presenting but that is only one reason I was so late in getting the garden planted this season. We’ve been doing “infrastructure”–cleaning, pumping up, prepping planting beds and mulching paths.
It’s finally all planted–the home garden, at least. I’ve taken on responsibility in the Women’s Garden and that one is also behind its times. I’m doing Monday morning work days there but spent last Monday in a soft rain, pulling heavy-duty weeds because it was too wet to work the soil and plant. And today, Beloved Crone called me a little after seven to say the fig tree had uprooted itself. Again.
This is the time of year when we feel most tied to the land–a bond of friendship and tending that yields strawberries still warm from the sun and broccoli so crisp and green that the taste buds boggle.
There is never enough time to do it all. I am de-woading and de-hopsing the summer garden, ridding two big planting beds of wildly-growing cultural icons that yield little in the way of foodstuff.
Evenings find me wandering through the rows, weeding out the damned morning glory sprouts, thinning the carrots and the okra. Two short rows of turnips yield a big bunch of delicious greens every few days. And the loose-leaf lettuces have germinated and will soon be edible–the salads of the future lurk there between the haricot verts and the radishes.
How are you finding solace–and vegetables–in the green and growing things that are all around you?