I can’t seem to catch my breath. Weeds are taking over our humble acreage here on the Cutoff. This afternoon, I broke the weeder. Pushing too hard on the handle, it broke! We have some pretty tough weeds in our garden. Tomatoes, cabbage, Brussels sprouts, zucchini and peppers have needed tending in our plot in the Community Garden. I’m trying to finish up some projects and the upcoming Elmhurst Garden Walk and Faire has us all busy making final preparations. In-the-meantime, forceful storms rolled in right at suppertime, pounding the skies with thunder and pelting the windows with rain.
So, what do I do? I sit here, my mind wandering, thinking of Honeyman Farms in Homer Glen, where rows and rows of seed packets fill a horse barn. Every kind of seed from a bevy of distributors; heirloom, seed collectors, beans and zinnias and chinese cabbage. There were so many seeds I wanted to buy for the pure beauty of the graphics on the packages – rather like judging a book by its cover. I’m easily swayed.
There were golden jars of clover honey for sale and garden plants just out the door, just waiting to be slipped into soil.
Remnants of long ago horse breeding caught our eyes. Old barns have so much to say, don’t they, with their corners and eaves and places that seem especially made for new life?
We strolled around to the pond were bullfrogs reign, and past raspberry canes, the owner inviting us back mid-season to do our picking. Just sitting, thinking about our recent outing, feels good, this taking time to catch one’s breath. Feels real good.
It’s late, my friend. I think I’ll wander on up to bed, read a few pages from Barbara Kingsolver’s “Flight Behavior”, listen to the raindrops on the roof, and call it day.