I know that’s part of a nursery rhyme, but at the moment, I can’t remember which one. It’s been a long time since I spent time with Mother Goose, Jack-be-Nimble, or the Old Woman in the Shoe. Still, pieces of them spring back from time to time.
Right now, the garden is doing fine. Although the tomato plants are a mystery. They haven’t produced a thing as of yet, but they are the bushiest, stumpiest, plants I’ve seen. Honestly, they are like little shrubs, robust and lush, perfectly healthy, but short. And not one flower to be seen. I’m a little afraid of what they will produce, should they ever do so. We may be eating spaghetti sauce until the next millennium.
We’ll be eating lettuce until it’s sprouting from our ears. The peas are looking mighty fine as do the beans. The carrots are way ahead of last years and the beets are right on track, as are the green peppers. I have a small garden so no cukes, zucchini, squash, or pumpkins this year. I did fit in a few sunflowers and zinnias. Gram Prezak always said it’s good to put a row of flowers to attract the bees.
Thanks to all the rain we’ve had here, the flowers are being quite showy as they flounce their colors. I’ve been extra diligent in spraying against the deer and bunnies this year. But they are an unforgiving lot as if I miss one flower bed, they are right there to let me know I’ve been a slacker. A few nights ago, I went around the entire yard, but missed on measly bed of tiger lilies, and yup, the next morning they were gone. Nothing left but green spikes where the blooms once trumpeted.
I have two beds of golden tops, at least that’s what my grandmother called them, that are cuttings from her house. They grew and expanded over twenty-five years here, marking the end of summer with tall, gold hued flowers. A few years ago, for some odd reason, the deer finally discovered them and found them to be quite tasty. The flowers struggled to recover after that first attack, and despite my efforts to protect them, the deer continue to savage them as soon as the spray wears off, like vultures circling. I fear I may have lost the battle this year. The deer don’t seem to be bothering them, but my dear golden tops seem to have surrendered the war. They are a vague shadow of what they once were.
As I sit on the deck and wait to see if anything comes of them, I can be comforted by all the rest that show me what they’ve got in a plethora of color and splendor. Ah, these summer days. They go too fast and remind me of a song by Kathy Matea many years ago titled Summer of My Dreams. It goes like this: In the shade of this old tree, in the summer of my dreams, by the tall grass, by the wild rose, where the trees dance and the wind blows. As the days go oh so slowly, as the sun shines oh so holy on the good and gracious green, in the summer of my dreams.