Yesterday, Sunday, I went out to garden. The vegetable box was completely overgrown. I pulled out the kale (we ate it for dinner), the old lettuce, the cilantro and all the nasturtium. Then I replanted lettuce seed for the coming weeks. The tomatoes are clinging sturdily to the vine, but haven't ripened. I have one eggplant that I'll need to pick shortly. I clipped back all the daylilies; pulled out their dried stems to make everything look neater. Then I climbed around behind the crab apple tree and entered into the fearful zone of overgrown vines, tilting apple tree, listing Joe Pye Weed and intrusive poke weed. I whacked it all back, using my weed whacker, I gave the whole hillside a clean shave. I pulled the apple tree up and tied it tall, anchoring it to the crab apple tree. Poor old Joe Pye (my cousin) had been completely overtaken by this nasty vine. I don't know what it's called, but it grows like a blanket over things and it has these seed pods. It's bad, bad, bad, my neighbor A, told me last year. Meanwhile, next door, my neighbor C, has a forest of pokeweed about to go to seed. The birds will come and distribute the seeds everywhere, bringing on disaster for anyone not wanting the stuff to grow. Nothing can be done about it, though.
The sweat poured off of me as I worked. I kept a towel near by and wiped frequently. It felt so good. T stopped by and said, "There really is a garden back here." That was surprising. She hates gardening. Meanwhile, out front, the gold finch feeder is attracting a huge clientele.
I have to get up now and go get ready for my day job. The Putterer
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