The Breathless Wonder of the Season

I know, we are behind.  Maybe not that far, but we feel the need to sprint to find the progress we had intended.  It's not that we have been idle.  We took it upon ourselves to rework the garden fence - all 350-feet of it, more or less.  Grass and poison ivy and all manner of unidentified other tree like invasives had worked their way up and between and into the chicken wire rabbit fence and the polypropylene deer fence, and varmints had breached the fortifications over the years.  It's hard to believe, but we are finishing up our ninth year at Taproot Garden and while other aspects of the farmstead are showing steady improvement, the fence was showing its age.  We removed the old chicken wire, dug up the invading growth, added landscaping fabric to hopefully slow the rate of its return, installed new chicken wire with securing staples.

All that, plus nature has had its own ideas.  The fencing project had to wait for the ground to thaw out from winter's freezing, and then occasionally wait for it to dry out from springtime's rains.  And then there were late season freezes and hail and high winds and...

Meanwhile, the greenhouse grew more and more dense.  Herbs and flowers and vegetables alike started crying out to passersby, "Help!  We are being held here against our wishes!"

Finally, the fence project was completed and the garden was, once again, reasonably secure.  And the great migration could begin.  We had already direct seeded several rows - lettuces, spinach, potatoes, beans, beets, carrots and collards, okra, Swiss chard, turnips and radishes.  But now the big stuff could join alongside. We started with a smattering of tomatoes - black krim, Cherokee purple, Paul Robeson, indigo apple, black cherry, Lilian's yellow, Brandywine, Amish paste, San Marzano, Dakota Sport; then added broccoli, cabbages, kale and peppers.  It's progress.

There is some distance yet to travel, just to get where we ought to be.  There are onions for which to find a place, and leeks, more cabbage and peppers and I don't even want to think about how many more tomatoes.  And we are rapidly running out of room.

We'll figure it out.  And at least it's underway, this annual adventure in the soil. Eventually we'll hit our stride and find a rhythm - the warp and weft of weeding and watering, monitoring for bugs and noticing diseases, aching for sun and cursing the heat, shoes sucked off in the mud and praying for rain.

You know, gardening.

One of these days we may even get to eat some it.  In the meantime, let the breathless pace and wonder of it all begin.  I've got my hoe and my hose ready.