 |
| This proud sunflower came up all by itself this year. About a third of our sunflowers are, like this one, volunteers. |
We're about to leave for six or seven weeks on a road trip to the east coast, including Canada's eastern provinces. After we pass Minnesota to visit family, it'll be mostly new territory, especially when we enter Canada after Michigan's Upper Peninsula. Then dip down into New Jersey to see PK's family. Excited!
On the other hand....August is pay-off time for garden work that began in early spring. This morning I harvested a dozen cantaloupes, pulled a row of onions to begin a quick "cure" in the full sun before storage, poked through the tomatoes to find the ripe ones, and snipped the glossiest eggplants and the most perfect zucchinis. The harvest box was so heavy I had to unload some on the garden's edge for a return trip. Definitely a first-world "problem."
 |
| Part of this morning's harvest included a dozen ripe melons and massive spaghetti squash. |
I try not to take for granted the bounty and beauty and my good fortune. Thank you, universe. But having a wonderful home and garden isn't our only fortune, but also the ability to travel and leave behind the few green acres in which we are rooted and where we've grown and learned and raised our sons and made a home we're not ready to give up. I wonder when that day will come, as it must. As it will.
For now, we'll indulge our shared delight in travel and enjoy the best of both worlds, home in the garden and at home in the world. I think we'll do this as long as we're able and our strongest tethers aren't to the land or to wanderlust but to each other.
 |
| Later we feasted on smoked grilled veggies marinated in sesame dressing, and succulent sweet melon with fresh basil. The barbecue chicken was a bonus. |
The joy of gardening isn't just about the harvest, it's about the process and the beauty. It's about awakening with the birds and bees and butterflies. They drink the nectar, gather the pollen, and ravage (finches!) the chard and kale, and sunflower leaves. The morning light about kills me. Ditto the evening light.
It's about the intoxicating fragrance of roses and the sweet smell of crushed mint that's grown into what passes for a lawn. This morning, a few days before our departure I ventured out to work, to harvest, to enjoy, and to assess my brain and heart about leaving at the peak of harvest.
Bottom line. I'm good with it. The garden's inevitable decline has started. The next five days are predicted to be 100-plus. I hate extreme heat, and the garden hates it more. Leaves will curl, peppers and tomatoes without shading leaves will shrivel with sunburn, and the sunflowers will hasten to seed, much to the delight of numerous bird species.
We've hired a trusted person to harvest and give away the remaining melons and other stuff; and to harvest and freeze tomatoes from 11 plants, down from 17 plants last year! It'll all be good. It's been a process, but I know we'll drive away in a few days without looking back. If I get too lonesome, I'll just look at these pictures.
