Notes from Three of Earth Farm: Trying to Garden in a Meadow

With one notable exception, in my adult memory I have always had a certain knowing about what would precipitate a change in some aspect of my life. (The end of my marriage to my children’s father—both that it ended and why it ended—being the one that blindsided me.) I haven’t known the when, just the what.

As I worked in the garden this weekend, pulling out and cutting down spent vegetable and flower detritus, propping up exuberant tomato vines, and—again—edging the brick pathway, I found myself thinking about that admittedly exaggerated declaration. I know exactly what will end this garden: buttercup and whatever this weed is (I’m sure someone will know). If “bane” is not part of its name, it should be.

PLXyhGZ5TaaeSDX2QYGVfQ_thumb_2d555

There was no time in July for garden maintenance, so when I  finally headed up the driveway yesterday, I was quickly overwhelmed. That was after the 30-minutes distraction before I got there, pulling two barrow loads of blackberry vines from one side of the driveway and not nohow getting them all.

The first order of business: the tomatoes had to be propped up before the vines break. Now there is a little village of tomato cages outside the box that the man who mows the meadow and generously weed eats the garden—though rather randomly—won’t be able to cut around.

fh56FNpxQW2ANmrm6oA2oQ_thumb_2d5b1.jpg

Next year I will try the maters in the A-frame I made to keep the squash from spilling out of the box. The squash have not been prolific; I don’t think they like the frame. I don’t know why I haven’t thought of  it before. In good news, there are more squash blossoms this year than last.

UYci2KzET6GkK73pjKjBWA_thumb_2d5c0.jpg

Meanwhile, the vines of the miniature pumpkins I planted for the first time just because I had an extra box that nothing has thrived in, are running amok. I tucked the vines up into the box.

ztLvU9p4QZueIS8pZ%MF5w_thumb_2d4c8.jpg

Slugs, I imagine, ate the green beans plants after just one picking. I reapplied slug bait, but I’m pretty sure it’s too late. On the other hand, I did, for the first time, have some luck with parsnips in a deeper box.

O4tH7DygQHaYH2h8IKMTgQ_thumb_2d42c.jpg

I didn’t get out of the house early enough yesterday, then there were the blackberries, and it quickly got too hot to stay long in the garden that gets the early sun. I also spent too much time ripping the leaves off the buttercup instead of uncovering bricks. And the buttercup will grow right back. But then, so will the bricks get covered back up. Fortunately the moles haven’t been too active—yet, anyway—so they aren’t buried under dirt.

UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_2d523.jpg

Today I was out at 7:30 and closed my eyes to the driveway vegetation. I got an hour and a half of path clearing done before I was in full sun. Another hour and it was done. And I was overheated. Maybe tomorrow I will break out my human-powered mower and see if I can make the  “grass” look better.

xeApkVwyQzahubA%5sDIZQ_thumb_2d5df.jpg

One day this will be too much. And it will probably happen before I leave this property. I will want to sit under the umbrella on the deck and write. Or hike. Or take a nap. Not scrape bane-in-the-ass weeds off the little patio I didn’t put plastic under and pull it out of the pea bed. Not battle the buttercup. They are going to win. I’m not even trying to beat the violets for now. I like them. Picking my battles.

OcRQW9fLRaKrhxIPIOqcmg_thumb_2d5a3

IMG_0597

Some day this meadow may have a house or two in it and some excavator will dig up bricks buried three feet under the dirt the moles covered them with and the buttercup anchored there and wonder what the heck used to be here. Maybe construction will halt while an archaeological dig is conducted.

j6btLS3vSpGjp0ANJsqBVA_thumb_2d52f.jpg

But there is a bright spot in this work now: there are snacks! And there is beauty and promise. And that is hopeful.

UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_2d4c9.jpg

bkPqmFv0TWywZiZa%qVTOQ_thumb_2d485.jpg

rPFbd3DgR2STg+dvFoyP+g_thumb_2d433.jpg

hSNNiFJyTHip4rnbAjbcng_thumb_2d431.jpg

q4rxFb85QdCwFzCKvnOA0Q_thumb_2d4ce.jpg

aA2KsJ4dQ4+7q0y3iOeObg_thumb_2d4de.jpg

z7XYKelVT4Sgl1eae8ULPQ_thumb_2d4cf.jpg

8 thoughts on “Notes from Three of Earth Farm: Trying to Garden in a Meadow

  1. Do absolutely love your floral shots…a balancing to the effort of yardwork. I agonize with you, but will only hire what I must…treetrimming etc! Grateful for health!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ditto that! Mowing the meadow, which I suppose I could do, if I had a mower. But after seeing the evidence of constant breakdowns in my dad’s calendar/journals, nope. And as long as I’m paying for that, he might as well do the lawn! Since I also don’t have a lawnmower.

      Like

  2. But… just as you wear down, those littles you love so much should be big enough to really help! In our yelder years (young elder=yelder) cultivating relationship with a few good teenage boys is as important as cultivating plants… Just sayin’. Ann and I spent the weekend cleaning out the shed of old paint, broken tiles, and reorganizing everything left in there, washing and staining deck and patio railings, picking peas and beans and blueberries… it’s a lot. It got hot. Take it easy on yourself. Hugs.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Right! Except for soccer, baseball, dance lessons… Love yelder years! I’m impressed that you stained your deck. But the lovely man who did mine this summer, along with the outside of the workshop over the carport, tells me paint is so good now, it won’t need it again in my tenure here! (His teenage “helper” stopped coming to “help.” He was appalled that he was expected to put in 8 hours in a single day, and so he didn’t!) I’m ready for winter. But I still need to clean out the shed… Hugs to you and Ann!

      Like

  3. It’s the butterfly effect. Every single act you contribute to the world, whether with word, heart or hands makes an enormous impact. Even you. Especially you. You make the world a more beautiful place. 

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s