Just the other evening I heard the tell tale sound of banging and buzzing on the porch screens – a June Bug. This evening, July! June cruised by like a hawk on the strike – get ‘yer bunnies here, hawk! Things are unpredictable, out of control, lightening quick here in the wild world. Overnight, plants are sprawling. Others are devoured, covered, entwined. Nice things are turning bad out there. It is cool when it rains, hot and humid when it shines – inject growth hormone.
The garden, though cottage style it is, is more jungle than planned, or even unplanned, creation. I can’t seem to keep up with the weeding, pruning, editing … much less journaling and blogging. Instead of planting, I am ripping things out left and right, hacking things down. I have determined, aside from a machete, that I need to create paths in my large, deep beds for maintenance and some sense of order. The grapevines are lapping at my leaf trellis – where I still need to plant the Cypress, or Cardinal Climber Vines I started. The grapevines from there are leaping to the neighbor’s tree. I need to rein them in. I need to cut back the dead wood on the neighbor’s tree, too, what is hanging over my side of the fence. The maple I planted on my side of the fence has “jungle-grown” at least three feet this year and now reaches its canopy. Make way, make room, make paths.
And by the way, I don’t have any nice things to wear out there – I am muddy, gritty, sweaty and bug bitten.
Joe Pye is everywhere and getting taller by the minute. Towering over the driftwood heron and barring in the windows to our workshop. Plants I promised friends are now HUGE. Maybe if I dare to jump in, wrestle around in that jungle I can find some more “babies” to give away, preferably uneaten. The prolific plants like Black-eyed Susans, keep producing in spite of being on the rabbit herd’s menu.
Not so in the Potager. There it is a different wild world. Things are eaten as soon as they sprout from the ground – except of course, for the weeds. To protect the peas and greens from the ravaging rabbits, I have resorted to netting but don’t have enough for everything. Plant more seeds, pull more weeds. But the trumpet vine is taking off this year, covering the arbor and looking for more. I need to whip it into shape, tame it, train it.
The compost is full, overflowing, and growing. My back is aching. The gin is chilling. And I am getting by with a smile – it is sweet summer.