I live in the Midwest. This time of year, frost is inevitably around the corner. I should start pulling plants out. This summer was busy, and gardening was low on my daily chores. The hens reaped the benefit of bitter lettuce leaves because I forgot to pick them. I picked field peas but did not get around to shelling, so they dried in their hulls. Green beans exceeded their prime, but I cooked them for stew. Kale will grow despite negligence, and I still have not used them in juicing. Absent for weeks, I left the watering to others due to lack of rain.
Tomatoes were not roasted for sauce this harvest season or put in the freezer. Although I halved the plum tomatoes, scooped out the seeds, and froze them for later. My basil went to seed. I did not make pesto. I harvested garlic too late; no bulbs were wrapped in dry husk—only a few cloves I washed and chopped for the freezer.
The rabbits ate the morning glories and nibbled back plants they should not like; the hardware-cloth fence did not detour them. I watched a rabbit stand on its tip-toes to reach tender shoots and leaves. It looked tall!
I did not write the farmer’s market on my calendar. I missed weekly visits and sweet corn season.
The last snapdragons, shrub roses, and calendulas provide much color. The coneflowers have blackened as subtle yellows, and goldfinches perched to eat seeds. Chipmunks are under feeders stuffing their cheeks, and hummingbirds have left.
More importantly, I let the garden go, and our freezer is bare of full-quart bags of sauces and blanched vegetables for the sake of final editing Song of Jaybird.
I must remember I cannot do everything, and it’s okay. Do you struggle with letting some tasks go for the sake of other goals?
