I planted the garden so very late this year. As I watch my tomatoes struggle to ripen in late August, I have to remind myself why. Given the chaos of our move, the fact that we didn’t officially live here until early June, it’s remarkable there is a garden to harvest at all.
And yet, the vegetables keeps coming, filling buckets, overflowing in my refrigerator, packing the freezer, and making each meal an act of invention, a riot of color.
Like last night, our zucchini pie (don’t roll your eyes, dad… it was pretty yummy!) with cucumber salad was an unexpectedly delicious improvisation.
That is the beauty of gardening. If you are patient, if you do the satisfying work of digging, planting, and weeding, if you provide enough water, and if you luck out and get some sun and heat (eventually), the harvest comes. You can certainly do a better job than I did this year, with extra research and daily pruning, weeding, bud management, and all of the other tinkering people do when there isn’t a puppy to chase and a toddler to keep safe, two girls to enjoy, and a bit of actual paid labor to get done.
But I’m finding, in this full, wonderful, hectic life of mine, that sometimes, the best tool I can bring to any job is patience, and the knowledge that today’s work becomes tomorrow’s harvest even when it’s not done to perfection.