Week of June 11th

A short post; more to follow next week, and maybe pictures!

It seems like everything has tripled in size this week, and I’m somewhat afraid that if I turn around for more than a minute, the pumpkin vines will grow another two feet and pull me under. Many thanks to Will Scarlet for taking care of watering this week, everything is thriving. I fear the one thing I have to report as sad news is that I must mark the dill as this seasons only crop failure (thus far, planting gods remaining as merciful as they’ve been). A tragic day to be sure. I blame the poor soil in the raised beds.

Other than that, everything is doing well. Harvesting this week: kale, chard, salad, spinach, garlic scapes, green onions, radishes, snap peas and raspberries.

The slugs have won, I fear, our war over the radishes; they are rather eaten up. I’m reminded, however, of Thoreau’s admonishment that we not begrudge the minor thefts of the creatures of the field and forest, as our crop should sustain them as well as us, since we all share the space. That being said, it’s slugs that are eating the radishes, and those creatures are of the devil, and I believe they should be crushed and salted upon sight. Thus, I find both Thoreau and the slugs to objects of some resentment in this case, and refuse to back down from my bitter grudge-holding ways.

I will also admit to hoarding the raspberries; I consider them my season’s wages.

Finally, this weekend is fathers day; I was not writing on mothers day, so there can be no accusations of bias here. This weekend let’s remember that fathers may do more than mow lawns and grill, they may also grow things (not grass, for the purposes of this sentence). I’d like to say as well that it was my own father whose boyhood copy of Walden I read, and who was not mad at me the first time (of many) I broke a tractor, and who helped teach me, in no insignificant way, the value of a day of work done well, and I am thankful and appreciative and proud of that legacy, as I am also of the special places in Maryland and Alabama that brought me here to this internet soapbox to shout such things into the void, and that set me on the path I’m walking.

The garden is lovely this time each year, shouting of success and promise and growth, and all the work and dreams of the winter and spring are validated by the first flush of summer. Thanks to everyone who worked this week.


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