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| This is the scene beyond the garden this evening around 8 p.m. Cool, dark, foggy, and raining HARD. | | | | |
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Usually during the long days of June, we're dining happily outside around 8 p.m. with birds swooping and garden plants straining toward the sky. Not this year. This year we've had the wood stove fired up nearly every night, and although many plants (notably asparagus, potatoes and onions) seem none the worse for constant water torture, others languish. Those would be the peppers, tomatoes, and eggplants. I'm almost embarrassed to look at them.
Sorry! I want to say. But how do you make amends to plants that you've babied from seed and set out with the best intentions only to have them pelted and pummeled with rain, and sometimes hail, and also subjected to unseasonable cold? Well, there's really nothing to say because there's nothing to do. I remember, years ago, as a callow youth, scorning elders for their weather chatter.
Who cares? I thought.
Don't they have anything better to discuss? Now I understand.
