I am the type of gardner that cannot stand a bare inch. Today more Morning Glories went in with the tomatoes because of the fabulous fence for them all to clamber upon. Then some Nastursums (oh, sorry about the spelling) went in with the zucchini. Moon Flowers with the Neighbor Beans, and Flying Saucers with the Cleomes and marigolds all over the place, cheering on the potatoes and yellow squash and eggplants and peppers. Of course at some point I will post a photo, when it is a glorious tangle of produce and color. My object is to fool the bugs and choke out the weeds. Actually, I am serious. Have you ever read the little book published back in the Dark Ages (1971) by Organic Gardening called "Easy Gardening?" The author tells us to mulch heavily so the weeds are easy to pull out, plant closely to confuse the bugs, and to let the "pests" be. I had that book, a gift from Organic Gardening for my subscription.
The garden has been my refuge, my healing, my returning to physical activity. I cry when I am tangled in the damn hose and when I find those horrible yellow and black not-ladybugs chowing on my beans and when I am exhausted. I stop and watch the nesting birds, the black birds took over the woodpecker condo and have a batch of hungy ones in there. I sweat buckets. Most of all I am deeply grateful for this patch of dirt, for the desire in the seeds to sprout, and for my internal clock that wakes me up and shouts, "Plant tomatoes today! Call N2 for help! Do it now!" I am grateful for Wayne's willingness to pound in posts and put up the wire for the tomatoes and beans, for rototilling and digging beds and reminding me that I used up all the time for taking the dogs to the lake (oops). I am grateful for this time to do my internal work, my prayers, my meditation, more prayers and to be in the warm, budding, vital buzz of late spring.
Maybe tomorrow I will start that painting.