A Different Kind of Garden Beauty

DD#2 thinks the garden is prettiest in July, when everything has filled in and the weeds are (hopefully) at a minimum. She’s right, but I also enjoy the garden at the end of the season. It’s just a different kind of beautiful:

You might see piles of dying vegetation. I see the culmination of a productive season. I see months of satisfying physical labor. I see the absolute miracle that a tiny seed put into some dirt and watered could produce hundreds more like it. (I’ve been shelling beans.) I see grapevines so determined to survive in Montana that they will tolerate a week of -15 degree temperatures and three feet of snow in February. I can’t even be annoyed with the weeds that have evolved to take advantage of every last nook and cranny of space, because they do what they do so well.

I went to the grocery store yesterday. I didn’t buy much. I said to the husband that I walked through there thinking, “Don’t need to buy that, don’t need to buy that, don’t need to buy that,” because our little plot of land and our chickens produce so much of what we consume. I look at this garden and I feel overwhelming gratitude for the abundance. It’s beautiful. LOOK AT THAT LETTUCE.

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The husband had the guys here this morning getting the shop floor ready for concrete:

Poor Rusty wants to help. He kept walking into the chalk line. Eventually he got out of the way and came over and stood by me while I picked apples.

The husband set the floor drain:

I’ll make sure to get pictures when the actual pour happens.

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I’m going to try to carve out some time for a sewing project this weekend. It might be a small project—an apron or a zipper pouch—but I need to do something. I haven’t decided on tomorrow’s tasks yet. I can do more garden cleanup or I could make a batch of tomato sauce. We’ll see what the weather is doing when I get up.