06 Oct 2010 1 Comment
BIG issues. Look at this fellow, chomping away on my tomato plant. Pig. He’s the sixth one in two weeks! Not only does he favor tomatoes, but he’s partial to peppers, too.
Then I strolled by the black bean plants and spotted this little beast. Can this kid eat, or what?
Of course there are the usual flies in an assortment of colors. This one is blue, but they come in gold and green. Lovely if they weren’t hurting my plants. I’d show you the crickets hopping through my beds, but they’re a tad more agile than caterpillars and worms and hard to photograph. Hmph.
Oh. And don’t forget the aphids. Pests. On a brighter note, I did harvest my first two squash today — this one included.
My sweet peppers were happier on the patio. Screens do a lot to keep the bugs away. This transplant went into the ground green and healthy and now look at him. Poor thing.
What’s a gardener to do? I’ve sprayed with insecticidal soap. I keep them watered, fed and healthy. For the most part.
Vigilance. That’s the answer. I make bug watch walks twice daily now, just to be sure. And if the bugs weren’t enough, I have leaf curl.
My tomato plants are curling at the leaves and I don’t know if it’s due to a virus or the climate. Could be either, but hopefully not both. That would be bad. Very, very bad.
But I won’t despair. The “middle” of any growth cycle is always trying. Do you know what happens to your body during middle age? It isn’t pretty. It’s difficult. Everything becomes harder; harder to lose weight, harder to retain muscle, harder to see, harder to hear…
Not to mention sagging middles in your novel! (That’s writer talk.) The period between sprouts and harvest is no different. It takes work. Maintenance. Weeding, feeding, watching and waiting, but then comes harvest. One of my favorite times in the garden!
For now, I work, I watch, I prune, I pick (worms right off my leaves) until the time comes when I can pluck, and pull — and EAT!
Yes. Harvest is a great time in the garden, but it won’t happen if I don’t work through the middle. Neither will my golden anniversary. Or my golden years, my gold-rimmed glasses…
Golden, like this squash. Okay, it’s yellow but you get the point. Life is golden, no matter how you slice it. Beats the alternative, anyway.