Journal, it is with much sighing that I admit this: I’m going to take my focus off of the gardens now.
Yes, early. There is much to be done no matter what, things such as garlic planting, harvesting food, transplanting perennials, and seed collection. (With the one random hollyhock plant that sprung up in an herb bed, I will have enough seeds to recreate my old hollyhock patch, with great-great-great-granddaughter-seeds.) There is also a small greenhouse to build and other outdoor spaces to be prepared for the spring. A certain blueberry bush is patiently waiting for a permanent home. I might get a hankering and toss in yet another row of radishes and lettuce, like I have twice a month since April. Or maybe more kale, especially since it can take the frost and snow. I’m not promising myself anything as far as extra plantings.
This decision was heavily mulled. Time is finite. My level of energy can not be predicted. I have much to do inside and I need to shift my focus back to tasks like painting, styling, purging, and personal projects.
The weather is so lovely and it has been for all of August. I can’t imagine what sweet September will bring for us, besides trees on display, honking geese, waning light, and the promise of a cadent journey toward the end of the year.