Honey Suckle is in bloom right now, so I suppose this must be HoneySuckle Winter which means pleasant temps, humidity and pop-up t-storms.
I till. I hoe. I sow.
It rains. It pours.
I till some more. I hoe some more. I sow some more.
Welcome to the Garden of Corrections.
Two rows of expertly planted Zinnia just didn’t come up. Several rows of treasured Sunflower were either washed away or didn’t come up. Most worrisome of all: There is no sign of the all-important Basil I sowed to keep those pesky deer away from my precious crop of Peruvian purple corn. Precious Marigolds are spotty, at best.
As Chief Corrections Officer of Groundhog Hill, I’ll be spending the next week correcting these inadvertent mistakes in between t-storms. If only I had a badge and a cool hat.
On a more Up note, I did lead a La Rue Family Creek Walk on Memorial Day.
I had hoped (incorrectly) by meeting at Groundhog Hill, my family members would comment on how great the garden looked or at the very least, offer to each take a row and pull up some Johnson Grass. None did.
Instead, we walked the creek armed with tobacco sticks and on the lookout for snakes. (Every person I mentioned this walk to prior to leading it immediately warned me “to watch out for snakes!” Thanks a lot, Robin Lee!)
What we found, though, was some beautifully clear water, a lot of minnows, and one very large turtle that wasn’t nearly as thrilled to see us as we were to see him. (Photo of turtle withheld to protect is privacy.)
Also, there was one very puzzling vacuum cleaner (an upright) stuck in the mud. Weird. We correctly removed newly discovered Hoover from the creek.
The highlight for me was seeing my great-nephews and great-niece excited about creek exploration. There were no exclamations of “we’re tired!” or “how much further?” Just a lot of running and wading and slipping on slick rocks. By the end of the mile-long walk, however, I felt like saying “Is anyone else hungry yet???”
Then, of course, there is that priceless Life Moment when a great-nephew, who up to this point in his very short life has spoken very little to me, reaches out for my hand to assist him in a particularly deep section of the creek. In that moment, our heretofore separate courses are corrected, and we become connected for the very first time. He may not remember it 20 years from now, but I shall.
Now, if he’d just learn to pull up some Johnson Grass, all would be swell.