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.
Each day with Donald Trump in power is a day we are losing what’s left of our better selves. I am embarrassed and ashamed of my nation and look for hope in resistance. I like to read (I just finished Ta-Nehesi Coates’ Between The World and Me), garden, cook, and talk.
I love… lobster bisque, eyebrow-shaping gel, NPR, tulips, Spring lists, flower prints, bunnies, paper crafts, Easter eggs, homemade waffles, family traditions, sunlight, flower seed packets, shoots of green in chilly Spring soil, pink cardigans, chirping birds, hair ties, Spring Break plans, sunlight, sleeping in, and time for a sweaty workout.