Ahh, Summer! As I child, I dreamt of you, anxiously counting the days left till I could run amok, unfettered by school schedules and homework. June to August were an unbroken chain of swim meets and summer camp, offset by gluttonous bike riding, and all framed in the glorious golden brown of a summer tan. College brought a new sense to you, oh, Summer season: an orgiastic haze of sun soaked beaches and freedom, extending from my last final to the day I could tell my summer boss to kiss my collegiate ass goodbye. Even in adulthood, you have been a harbinger of vacation days and barbecues, camping trips and margaritas by the pool.
Oh, Summer! Stupendous, sumptuous, Summer...why do you suck so bad this year?
I'll tell you why: Because I've never had a garden before. Summer, once the bastion of a blissful, carefree attitude, has bio-degraded into a two and a half month long worry marathon. It started with a nasty letter from the Department of Water and Power informing us that, not only were our rates going up, but our spring planting and month-long marathon of visitors taking showers had landed us squarely on their compost list. That has set off a litany of changes to watering schedules, time durations, water conservation practices...all the while watching our beautiful plants wilt, and our gorgeous lawn turn brown under the weight of 100+ degree heat.
The garden itself seems to be holding up quite well, all things considered. The problem is, compared to the explosion of color and growth that was spring, Summer is positively boring. In Spring, we would walk out one day and be amazed by how much something had grown...then walk out a couple days later and wonder how we could have been amazed at the previous growth, when the newest growth was SOO much more dramatic. In Summer, we walk out and wonder if things are going to make it.
Last summer was like that, too, I guess.
Everything I read says that plants go dormant in extreme temperatures, switching from growth mode, to survival mode. I suppose I can relate, having lived through one of those extreme changes in living conditions myself. I remember how I looked for the tiniest signs of life, how much I rejoiced at glimmers of beauty...and how resigned I was to nature running its course. Then I think about the fact that, on Monday, Sharon and I will celebrate our seven year anniversary.
I resolve to cut my garden (and my lawn) a little slack. We went out in the middle of the day to hang our new birdhouses. We admired the flowers on the Canna that are still brazenly blooming, the way the salvia have turned from slender stalks to woody bushes, and the random busy bee working through the noon-time heat. As I wandered, I quietly reassured everyone that it's okay to take a break for a while, that I don't love them any less than I did a couple months ago...and I promised to give everyone an extra drink of water tonight, a toast to the fact that Summer doesn't last forever.
***Note: Everything I've read also says that planting things in extreme summer heat is a surefire way to fail. Glad I didn't know THAT a year ago.