Garden On

I'm really ready to be done with the garden and yard. Not ready for the snow to fly, not even ready to rake leaves, but I'm yearning to break up with my reel lawn mower, pruners, and weed picker. Well, at least we need some time off from each other.

I know come February (okay, January)I'll be pining for those implements while I plan the vegetable garden whose bed will be buried under snow, but right now I'm just done. I'm sick of mowing grass that shouldn't be growing so much in September, tired of pulling the same weeds again, and saddened by pruning spent blossoms with no new blooms in the making for months.

Aside from a few beets lining the front of the garden and some volunteer cherry tomatoes that seem ripen way too slowly, there's little left but the herbs for food. The only flowers remaining are the autumn joy sedum. They're a personal favorite, with lovely succulent leaves in spring and summer and pink flowers deepening to russet as summer turns to fall. Along with the petal-free remains of the purple cone flowers and black-eyed susans, they add much-needed winter interest and landing pads for smaller birds. They also will give me hope when winter days drag on - spring will return.

My negative yard maintenance attitude abates a bit once I don my garden gloves and hit the dirt, pulling weeds, beating back the buttercups and bee balm, and removing dead day lillies. Cleaning the vegetable garden remains reminds me of the pesto I plan to make and freeze and the potatoes out of sight but still under the soil. Along with those beets and a few more carrots in my younger's garden, there's still some harvest remaining. After an hour of sweat-producing labor, my attitude about the yard is markedly brighter and my mood is lighter. Guess I'll keep the mower and garden on.

Returning Feynman

The boys and I finally managed to bury our gerbil, Feynman. We had him put to sleep (yes, you can have a gerbil euthanized at the vet's) over a month ago after a large tumor on his shoulder extended through the skin. He was bouncing along fairly well with this, but when bone was visible, my older son decided to let him go. While he opted out of being in the room for the injection, he was able to say goodbye in the exam room and see him again after his death. The front desk staff commented on the peaceful nature of our family during our visit to the clinic, and while our eyes were dry, I think the statement spoke more of our spirit than our outward appearance.

So why are we just burying this little critter at a date so distant from his passing? Four inches of rain the weekend of his death made his spot in the freezer quite secure while we waited for the yard to dry. The immediacy of the situation left, to be honest. We recovered from our first non-flushable pet loss while the ground soaked up the rain.

Today's weather drew me outside for one of the last gardening hurrahs of the season. I find post-summer clean-up a bit sad and not nearly as fun as spring gardening, so neglect sometimes occurs. The boys and I planted about 50 tulip and daffodil bulbs when my mind turned to Feynman in the freezer. I asked my older son if he'd like to bury him with some of the bulbs, returning the gerbil to the earth. He heartily took to the idea, and now Feynman rests among a cluster of red tulip bulbs in our backyard flower garden. Spring blooming will hold special meaning in 2009, knowing that our friend is part of the cycle of the universe.

Potatoes and Lesson Plans

After a week of delaying, I finally found my way to the vegetable garden which borders our back fence. Unstaked beefsteak tomato plants sprawled lazily, their fruit rotting against the earth as soon as it ripened. The grape tomatoes weathered their neglect much better, and the harvest was plenty. The beets are almost ready, as are the carrots, while the basil flowered weeks ago and has begun to seed. Greens and cucumbers are in the past, memories of our taste buds as August comes to a close

As I cleaned up the rotten tomatoes, a red potato peeked at me from the ground. I haven't planted potatoes for at least two years, so these guys are a delightful surprise this summer. A few weeks back, I stumbled upon a lone cantaloupe, another volunteer thanks to a compost pile that doesn't heat up enough to kill seeds. These finds make the weeds from the same compost pile entirely worth it. These are gifts from the earth, reminders of summers gone by. Numerous volunteer tomato plants grace the edges of the compost pile behind our garage, giving gifts freely without care from anyone.

From rich soil came surprises. Some of what I planted with purpose and planning made took root and flourished, but the some of the best came from sheer neglect. As another homeschooling "school year" begins in two days, I feel the panic to finish preparing, to find the materials that will cause the best fruit to grow in my children. I'm knee deep in lesson planning sheets (largely blank) and curriculum and rather certain that it won't all come together by Tuesday. Fortunately, the soil around here is rich, and the boys continue to grow and learn, plans completed or not. They have quite a bit in common with our surprise potatoes.