We had one of those great summer storms in the night. The kind of storm that reminds you of what feeling cozy feels like. We forget all about coziness in summer, preferring to feel cool and free. To feel unencumbered. But then a wild, wet storm blows through in the night. You tuck yourself in a little tighter and remember sweaters. Where are they? You long for long pants. You want to revert to black.

Summer storms helps us prepare for – and even get excited by – cool evenings of autumn and winter.

Plus, by August we are over it. June almost ruins summer with its extroverted fever to GET OUT and ENJOY SUMMER. We feel pangs of guilt for not filling each day to the brim with inflatable animals, frozen water products, and PLANS. So many plans. By August, we pull up a chair on the porch and finally read the summer books we would have read at the beach if there wasn’t so much TO DO at the beach.

August is also when nature fulfills promises it made in February. The tomatoes and cucumbers are a triumph. I’ve gone on about it. I know I have. But… It’s worth emphasizing. My mom continues to pillage my patch now that there is more than enough to go around. In the evenings, we have been out picking this and that, then making a sort of salad out of it. Sometimes there is no lettuce. It depends on what is ready. They are a rainbow of whatever is ripe and ready. There is a great deal of cutting and chopping.

So we have been feasting. Feasting our eyes on tomatoes drooping red from the vines. Feasting on the vibrant salads. Feasting on the slow calm brought on by the end of summer activity. Or rather, partaking in the end-of-summer activity of not doing too much. A flower bouquet arranged here, a tomato sliced there.

It makes one wish there were more Augusts in the year. A slow down. Puttering and preparing. And wondering what is on the horizon.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not yearning for my black wardrobe again.

-Janice

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It’s hard to believe that these stones are quietly rumbling their way up to the surface, but the evidence supports the theory.

“We didn’t call this place Stone Orchard for nothing. Stones are our principal crop! The endless uprising of stones that every year’s digging and ploughing pull to the surface. I have set these out as border markers beside the paths and between the lawns and between the flowerbeds.”

From Stone Orchard, Timothy Findley

The earth is generous. She gives me stones whenever I dig. It makes me wonder what else might be buried in the yard. Dinosaurs? Treasure? Or just more stones.

Blue and clay hues from the beach:

Last autumn, I dug up most of my dahlia tubers to store in the garage, but they froze over winter. I left some in the flowerbeds because, when I tried to dig them up, they wouldn’t budge. Practically tree trunks. So I gave them a big shoulder shrug and hoped for the best. I also secretly hoped that if they survived the winter, I might not have to bother digging up any dahlias ever again.

They all died a gruesome, slimy death.

But then a friend of a friend had too many dahlias and was looking for takers. My stock was replenished within a day, and I hadn’t even mentioned The Great Dahlia Overwintering Experiment.

Where one thing dies, another springs up. For instance, I’ve been stealing raspberries along hedgerows during my walks. Is it really stealing?

My sister also caught me in her gooseberry patch, but in my defence, I was planning to make gooseberry jam for both families. I knew she wouldn’t have the time, and they were already falling off the bush. She seemed fine with it. Made me a cup of tea and left me to it with instructions: “Not too sweet.”

Speaking of thievery, there’s the rabbit. This jerk. He/she/they has/have been eating the leaves of my beans and lettuce. I get annoyed, but I also know I’ll soon have a glut of lettuce, so we’ve sort of been sharing. The black cat next door has its own way of interfering. It has been lounging on my impatiens… which, I’ve learned, also goes by the common name “touch-me-not”—and for good reason. They don’t grow well with a fat cat lounging on top. Speaking of cat lounges…

Win some. Lose some. And you’re never quite sure what counts as a win or a loss. Those stones of mine are pretty nice. That cat is good company. And that rabbit? More baby bunnies on the way?

So July started frantically. Trying to keep some things OUT of the garden while trying to keep up with things growing IN the garden. “Garden fresh” and “picked at the peak of freshness” also mean that if you don’t deal with it soon, it will rot. I’ve already got gooseberries in jam jars. The black currants are on deck.

Now, with jars lined up, I breathe. July feels like a slow exhale. The kind of release you didn’t realize you were holding while you were waiting for something to arrive.

Finally, it has.

Fondly,
Janice

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