Never really started. That would have to follow.
And now it is almost the end, evenings waning toward fall. A chill is in the air in the mornings already, a testament to the brevity of this season, the seaon following the most bitter winter in recent memory, in my memory, in my father's memory. We've had long winters. We've had cold winters. We've had snowy winters. Never a winter like that.
Funny to be writing about winter in the middle of August, in the middle of a blog note about the summer. But there it is. Last winter cast a long shadow over the sprng and summer, and I feel it's early return in the winds of change.
Everything was late this summer. Spring planting was late, made later still by Farmer Mark's hospitalization, surgery, and recovery, which wound its way well into July. School ran later, thanks to winter, whch robbed us of school days that needed recovery. The ground didn't warm, the chicken coop didn't get built, the goats were not purchased nor prepared for. All summer felt like a mad catch-up to get done things that "should have been done" weeks before.
Rescued materials finished the chicken coop for summer, but still the coop needs finishing. Some sides are still made of netting, a pleasant, breezy material the ventilates well in the middle of July, but not so well on cold autumn nights. It is August, and the forecast low overnight tonight is 47 degrees. Moving too quickly toward fall, and the coop needs work: sides, tarpaper, and a proper roof. When will it get done? I have returned to work part time this summer, teaching summer literacy to elementary children, and there is no break before I return full time to my regular teaching job. Time, time.
The garden has suffered, and bloomed. The seed crops mostly got in too late, and there will be no corn this year, but the green beans are thriving, and even as I type, I am monitoring the second batch of green bean quarts in the pressure canner. There will be a second crop as well in a couple more days, and maybe more. Sometimes I feel the pressure, and fail to realize: it IS only August, and the crops have two months left. But I feel the urgency of last winter, of the return to work (when will I can all this food?) and I panic. The tomatoes I rushed to plant the weekend Mark got his diagnosis. What kind of wife races to put in 20 tomato plants while her husband lays in the hospital awaiting open heart surgery? But I knew those plants would make him happy, enrich his healing experience, watching our garden thrive. And so I took the extra hour and planted the tomatoes. It was a good use of time as it turns out. We are putting up a few quarts every couple days, and when the eggplant comes in I'll make sauce. But time, time......
The cucumber plants are sad and small. There are a couple pickle size cukes, but little else. The squash may or may not come in. I have a couple little baseball size globes on two plants, but I planted eight acorn squash, four spaghetti squash, and eight unknown mixed seeds. I was planning on a lot more that two fruits. And the pumpkins. No fruit yet. End of October, end of October.... I have to remember that my eminent return to work does not close out the gardening season. But the urgency remains nonetheless.
For now I will go pull my green beans out of the pressure canner. I am done for tonight. Tomorrow, work at school in the morning and in the garden at night. And canning and preserving. I am content to put the fruits of my land up for the winter, long or short, hard or easy, as it may be. And I will plan. I will plan for the garden next year and hope for an early spring.
