Summer may have arrived, but at Mucky Boots we're still stuck at Spring on the weather dial. Yesterday we finally had some heat and today promises more of the same, but the weeks of cool, cloudy weather have put the vegetable garden behind even last year's delayed schedule. We just picked the first barely ripe strawberries yesterday, and the pea blossoms are only starting to transform themselves into pods. The winter squash seeds decided to sprout after all, but unless we have an unusually long, warm fall there may not be enough time for the squash to ripen.
On the bright side, the brassicas and salad greens have been in heaven, doing all they can to make up for their thinner-blooded friends in the vegetable garden.
And on another, very bright side, every blooming perennial has decided that this is the year to put on a show. Could it be my expert, tender care? Probably not. Maybe it's Mother Nature trying to console us for Kim's stubborn case of bronchitis and my seasonal arthritis flare-up.
What ever the reason, anything in the front half of the property that blooms has gone to town: peonies, cranesbill geraniums, columbines, iris, lilies, wisteria, wigelia.
No wonder they call this a snowball viburnum - not only do its flowers look like snowballs, the fallen petals sprinkled on the path below look like a dusting of snow.
And the poppies! We knew we were in for a banner year in the poppy department, but for the last two weeks we have been blasted by the poppy equivalent of a double-orchestra symphony. Plants that last year bore three or four flowers are carrying eight or ten this year, and new clusters seem to have sprouted anywhere the conditions are even remotely suitable.
As usual, with a mind full of jobs wanting to be done and a body that isn't cooperating at the moment, I am wrestling with the lessons the garden is trying to teach me about patience, and acceptance, and living in the moment. So the lurching isn't just the weather, or my own progress down the garden path with sore joints - it's my blossoming into the person my garden wants me to be.
I wish I was a better student.