A lack of gardening
I have let the gardens go wild this year.
Back in late April on a day that promised summer I weeded the lower part of the garden, imagined what new perennials I’d add in, what annuals I’d buy for splashes of color, where the tomatoes and peppers would go, and then I never got back to it. Every once in a while I’d pull a few weeds as I passed by, but I have just not been able to get myself to spend the morning on my kneeling bench, tools at hand, bucket at my side, nor the afternoon for that matter.
I can’t seem to summon up the desire to go at it. My philosophy on gardening is that while it is work it’s joyous work. If it doesn’t feel joyous what the sense? It’s the same way I feel about living out in the country; if it doesn’t bring a feeling of overall contentment and wonder why bother. Every night I listen to the frogs and watch the fireflies, every morning I am greeted by the quiet of living on a dead end road off a country road every day I stop and am glad for what surrounds me.
But the gardening, well not this summer, at least not yet. It is a profusion of Queen Anne’s Lace, Mint, and Lamb’s Ear, Mexican Geraniums wending their way through with their lovely purple flowers, yellow day lilies in the midst of clover and the butterfly bush still holding it’s own. It is a tangle and I just can’t get myself to go into the weeds.