I wish you were here. I would lead you down the garden path. Pause with you under the redbud so you could hear the gentle drone of the bees as they gorge on sweet nectar. Guide you through the gauntlet of green, tender shoots brushing your legs as you pass. I would crouch down with you and show you how to crush the fronds of chamomile between your fingers to release the strong scent of tart apples. I would take you to the cool woodland corner where trillums bloom and ferns unfurl. I would remind you to look at every leaf and blade, every bud and sprig, every flower and sprout and in this way, with the sun on your face and the breeze in your hair, you would feel so alive. Walk with me.
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It's about time I gave you a peek at the garden. Things got off to a slow start what with a certain person getting into a spot of trouble in Indonesia, and a certain other person having to rush over there for 2 weeks, but eventually tiny plants were purchased and placed in the soil. And then it rained. And then it got incredibly hot for a few days, and then it got really cold. And then it rained some more. A lot. A ton. Each year brings its own particular set of weather patterns, and the resulting garden is a clear reflection of that. Compared to last July's splendor, we are behind. The lushness is just starting to creep into the vegetable garden after a few solid days of sunshine. My herb garden is bedraggled, the parsley battered. The native plants that we put in last year, though, are, for the most part, doing quite well. Our stone paths are flanked with honeysuckle and fragrant sumac, and the wild raspberry has gone, well, wild. Just now it's beset by Japanese beetles, which chew the leaves into lacy patterns and can strip a plant in the short time it takes you to go inside and down a glass of icy lemonade. Every day I pluck off dozens and drown them without remorse in a cup of soapy water. It's a jungle out here.
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