The slightest chill has been in the air when I leave the house in the morning lately, which is an indicator of one thing in particular;
Summer is coming to a close.
My misfit garden is in full-on harvest mode, with multi-coloured beets to be pulled, mini carrots to be uprooted, fresh figs to pluck, hot peppers to pinch, and celery (plus roots) to scythe. Not to mention a plethora of jewel-toned tomatoes, of course.
And for another year I never managed to sample the lemon cukes, having been squirrelled away overnight by some rooftop pest. Since we recently found out at a condo board meeting that they’re postponing refinishing our roof next year, it seems like I will have a garden next summer after all. But I won’t be bothering with lemon cukes again.
The garden did well despite the lacklustre weather, producing more food this year (with the exception of the artichoke plant that only grew one ‘choke) than it did in the last. And even though it is extremely haphazard, my free-form tomato community managed to thrive without too much intervention on my part. Yes, I could’ve staked them better, yes, I could’ve spaced them out more, but given the harvest I’ve gotten from them, complaining seems more than a little silly. The only downside of such an intensive setup is that the aphids that normally concentrate on one particular variety of plant that I grow have been boomeranging amongst the whole tomato garden, destroying leaves in their wake. Luckily, I’ve been vigilant enough that I haven’t lost any tomatoes due to it.
Every year, I feel a little less like a ragtag gardener, and a little more legitimate. Funny, I know. I bet Gayla would understand!
Until next time…
