Gardeners love to swap
information with one another.
They also find solace
in sharing their woes. It is
always comforting to know
that one is not alone, that
others have suffered
through similar setbacks.
It is much more fun to chat
about successes. But failures
do have their virtues
and if one takes a long view
of things they can be quite
instructive.
The optimistic side of
my brain certainly hopes
that is the case. My garden
notebook is already filling
up with next year’s do’s and
don’ts.
The clinker is remembering
to look at them come
spring. I have always been
more adept at planning
than the more crucial step,
carry through.
A close friend has characterized
this as the ``summer
of the cucumber.’’ By
that he means that everybody
seemed to have had
bumper cucumber crops despite
the lousy weather
through most of July and
August.
That has been the case
up here on the hill. Friends
and family have walked off
with oodles of cucumbers
and every time we visit our
kids in New York and Boston
they get a load of cukes,
like it or not.
The only downside to cucumber
summer has been
the late arrival of a powdery
mildew that is gleefully
dusting the foliage of
quite a few plants. The good
news is the harvest is in.
The bad news is that it is
an augury of summer’s end
and winter’s imminence
that is a bit hard to swallow,
especially now that we
are experiencing the summer
we never had.
As I observed to a friend
last week, nature always
gets its way. Our only option
is to roll with her always
unpredictable punches.
This summer will certainly
be remembered for
the late blight that devoured
all of our tomatoes.
But the hill archive now includes
a notation recording
the first ever hill zucchini
failure! Several plants produced
a fair number of
fruits.
The best producers were
volunteers sprouting from
last year’s crop. Most, however,
started out looking
pale, maintained their wan
miens throughout the summer,
despite being fed ample
organic nutrient supplements,
and ended their
lives a few days ago every
bit as wimpy as they were
several months ago. We
have no idea what caused
their stunted growth. Next
spring we will plant a different
variety, one that we have always have had success
with.
Perhaps the variety we
grew just did not like it
here very much. Who
knows? As I stated to a gardener
friend a few days ago,
next summer we will experiment
less, both with respect
to planting and variety
selection, and stick to
the basics that have stood
us in good stead over the
years.
It used to be that I could
count on Gabby to ward off
all unwanted critters. It
has also been the 'summer
of the critter.’ Rabbits,
moles, and a dazzling array
of winged creatures have
been dining on our leafiest,
most succulent plants. Not
quite as peppy as she used
to be, Gabby’s dominant activity
is passive sightseeing.
She still sits on the
deck invoking a sentry-like
posture, but if a rabbit
scoots across the lawn right
in front it merits a yawn at
best. She used to love to
snoot around for moles and
chipmunks, but these days
she seems not to have the
oomph do more than offer a
cursory sniff and then turn
to more important matters.
A brief snooze, for instance.
At age ninety-one her indifference
is well earned. I
know in my heart that we
will not walk the gardens
together forever. I also
know that tomato and zucchini
crop failures pale in
the face of that timeless reality
