It felt great putting on a light sweater to go milk the goats this morning. Am I a bad person for wishing for summer’s end? Or maybe just a bad gardener? This summer, however, was for the record books. And I don’t like to live my life by making records. (Let the whining begin!)
Normal years have us hitting ninety maybe three days a year. This year topped 13. Yes: I shouldn’t complain, as Michigan doesn’t get hurricanes or Texas-sized droughts…we’re not even prime for earthquakes, and we live too close to Lake Michigan for tornadoes to hit us. Somehow that doesn’t matter when there’s enough personal drama that even record rains and heat don’t register. But sayonara, Summer. I’ve had it with your drama, weather and otherwise.
(The pool is the concession I made to my husband years ago when I told him we can’t use the a/c any longer. It is pleasant, and it helps maintain marital peace.)
It’s usually the second week of August where most newbie gardeners give up the ghost and leave their gardens to the weeds. I may be no newbie, but it’s been a tough year in the epic weed/bug battle and it’s left me a bit frustrated. I have the CSA folks to grow for now too and can I say that my fifth planting of summer squash might bear fruit this year? Yes. The rest of you might be swimming in zucchini…and I am officially jealous.
So I am thankful for my determinate tomatoes, the Bellstar Paste: you gotta love a plant that doesn’t sprawl, is the first to set fruit and is also over and done by the third week of August. Oh, how happy I am when I pull those plants! Others come out too and I find myself in a flurry again, adding compost, reseeding, pulling out nonperfomers: if summer was a wash for some things, then it stands to reason that autumn will be wonderful. Gardeners are nothing if they’re not hopeful.
And I’ve got hope, lots of hope.