The hostas are looking pretty tired about now. The summer was cooler and wetter than usual and much of the garden paid the price (tomato yield was especially unimpressive). Other plants in my garden are still lush and green, but not the hostas. They are ready for some rest. And though I'm not entirely ready to say goodbye to warm summer afternoons, the hostas are a little more in tune with Mother Nature. They sense a change in the air and are preparing to shut down for the fall and winter. It's hard to believe that the summer's thick, lush bed will soon be a dried patch of earth. But that's exactly what's coming. Before the year is out, I'll likely make a picture of this bed covered with snow.
I think that's what I love the garden so much. In the rapid growth and then the quiet slumber of the plants is a regular reminder of the pattern of life.
As I contemplate the damage of first 6 months of the Cheetoh Kleptocrat’s rule, I cannot fathom what the next 6 will bring us. I grow weary of the vigilant fear that is occasioned by this president. Time to exercise the 25th amendment, y’all. I like to read (I just finished Jane Austen’s Emma), garden, cook, and talk.
I love… baby bunnies, summer blooms, morning coffee, flip flops and toe rings, planning history lessons, Harriet Tubman, enchanted fairy gardens, farm stands, homegrown tomatoes, thinking about my bulletin board, crisp white shirts, leisurely summer days, mowing the lawn, pinning my hair in a bun, lush green hostas, shiny wood floors, adventures with T, and a sweaty workout.