Sometimes the best story a man can tell is what the weather is doing.
It’s tough to get on the wrong side of September. If it’s sunny, it feels good. If it’s snowing, it feels good. Not many months have that going for it. The rain fell all night, refusing to go silent and turn to snow. The open window made me fight for warmth.
Fresh snow in the hills.
Come morning the mountains were snow covered. It’s good to see. The garden was deep green and not as happy. The tomatoes are ripening on time. The cucumbers, that hated rain in spring, seem to be enjoying it now. They know they need more sun and they’re not going to get it. They know: We try our best. We do what we can with the season given us.
We’re not much different.
Slinky pretending she doesn’t hear me.
Escaped the valley bottom. Took to the mountains in Jumbo. Hung low beside the creek. I’m not fond of the road or the people on it.
It’s not the same as rising up quickly.
There is a promise of frost in the air tonight. The tomatoes are hitting their stride, reveling in the September sun. They weren’t meant for this climate. They have been cheated out of their home.
It’s my job to encourage them. Tonight I will toss tarps and blankets to shelter them from below sub zero. Weeding is one thing, but this is where you get your gardening ‘chops’Not everything worries the dropping temperature. The carrots and spuds are well hid. The kale seems to be coming back to life in the cooler weather (there was a pest bothering it earlier, that has since headed for warmer climes). The cabbage and brussel sprouts are coming into their own.
It all feels good to me.