Things have taken their own course. After the months of spring and the work to prepare, plant, and organize, now comes the middle of summer – when the zucchini overtakes, the berries subside, and the desire to get my hands dirty just doesn’t hold the same appeal it did just those few weeks ago.
Each morning I pour a cup of coffee and wander up to see what’s happened since yesterday. I’ve done this often enough that I notice subtleties – like the way the grape finds its grasp on the arbour Aidan and I built, how, even with netting, the birds have managed to get at all the ripe blueberries, or that the honey bees have a thing for oregano, but not so much Russian sage.
In that fenced area my world becomes smaller and slower. Maybe it’s the concentration of stuff, or the time of day, but it all seems so vivid and happening – everything growing at the same time. On the surface plants eating light, supporting the engorged result of their sex, underneath roots reaching for water and doing deals – trading starch for nutrients.
Pushing back the borage to find the path I was thinking about domestication and cultivation. Us imposing ourselves on the natural processes of succession and balance. As I walk I see squash growing where we didn’t plant, horsetail threatening to dominate, aphids claiming the broccoli, and I am wondering if that’s not how it should be, everything finding its own rhythm. Then again, maybe it’s just an excuse not to weed.
The garden this morning reminded me that now is a bit more of a wild time – loose and relaxed. Like the plants, it’s ok to be disorganized, we can take advantage of the sun, and enjoy the company of those around us.