The garden right now is Easy Street. Weeds and bugs have slowed down with the cooler nights and shorter days, while the tomatoes keep rolling in like it’s still mid-August. Mostly all I have to do is go out there with a gathering basket and let the gorgeous ripe delectable tomatoes fall into my open hands.
So of course I become ambitious. Shall I clean out the raspberry brambles taking over the little clearing in the woods where I like to sit and write? How about transplanting some of those ferns to the bare spot on the other side of the yard? Or starting a new crop of cilantro? Or readying the cold frame for a some cool-weather greens? Or mulching the heck out of places where I might want to plant more bulbs?
I did about half of those. The mulching was facilitated by Doug, who carted mulch by the
barrowfull. I’m using it to turn a weedpatch into a civilized bed of caryopteris and nepeta, two shrubby perennials that bloom blue in late summer. Doug also facilitated my tea break when, ambition satisfied, I plunked down into one of the new adirondack chairs he made. Tomorrow will be another Sunday, with another New York Times, and then more paper to mulch with. Perfect.