I essentially left my garden to fend for itself for the last 9 days. We arrived home in the dark last night, and from what I can see from inside the house, it is NOT pretty out there. To misquote Jesse Ventura when he was governor of Minnesota, the state of the state ain’t so great. So, this is a different kind of post: things I hate about my garden:
*my beloved raspberries, are drying up on the canes. Yes, they’ll come back in the fall.
*grasshoppers the size of housewrens. Yes, I am exaggerating but if you could see their chomp marks on everything you would hate them, too.
*I think something is wrong with the sprinkler system. Things are dead and struggling that shouldn’t be, even in this heat.
*several of the apples on my espaliered trees are sun burnt.
*damned spotted spurge everywhere. I lay partial blame on my neighbors who, for some goofy reason, have let their lawn dry up and go to hell, making the perfect breeding ground for weeds.
Yes, gentle friends, this happens every year, I am overcome with a crushing sense of gardening ennui. The sense of boredom, weariness and dissatisfaction with the garden has settled in for the dog days of summer. In case you were wondering, here’s the definition of dog days : the sultry part of the summer, supposed to occur during the period that Sirius, the Dog Star, rises at the same time as the sun: now often reckoned from July 3 to August 11; and a period marked by lethargy, inactivity, or indolence.
The good news is this: I bought that CSA subscription so I can go pick up my Yukon gold potatos, zukes, cukes, and green beans this afternoon.
But other than that, you can find me pouting in the Lily Pond with an ice cold rhubarbtini.