Late Wednesday afternoon, I went out to tackle one wild corner. I was grumpily toting buckets of weeds to the compost heap when the lowering sun's rays suddenly lit up a red glow in a shrub I'd planted our first summer here. Ah, yes, I remember. That was supposed to be a highbush cranberry, but up to now, it hadn't fruited much. Yesterday, in the right light, it was finally showing off. This made me smile The berries should hang on for a while and may provide some winter color to that corner of the yard. My mood lifted a little.
The rudbeckia is past its peak, but it, too, creates a late day glow in the shadow of a spruce tree.
Here is the kind of insect damage I LIKE to see: Something has been feasting on milkweed leaves. I
hope this means butterflies have been laying eggs here. Monarchs, maybe?
Hmm, more critter damage.
I guess gardening has been ever thus. Plant diseases, garden pests. Yet, we will not starve. We are very lucky and I know it.
On this early September evening, I entered my garden grumpy and out of sorts. The world news alone these day is enough to put one down in the dumps. But I was also brooding about the troubles of others: of a loved one who is in serious trouble; of friends who are dealing with grave health issues. I was also focusing on things that I have left undone, on the many ways that I am not measuring up to my own expectations.
The garden brought me out of myself. As I poked about, weeding a little here, checking on something there, observing, planning ahead, I inhaled deeply. I noticed and took joy from the hum of pollinators, the glow of late summer blooms and fruits, and yes, even our marauding rabbit. The rhythms of life, the changing of the seasons, it was all there to see, to learn from, in lovely late summer light.