In late June, thunderstorms brought a tornado warning and these mamattus clouds. They always seem to urge me to go down to the fruit cellar and read a book. There was a lot of rain, five inches in my rain gauge and more than six upriver.
The Grand came over the road on the far side of the bridge and flowed unimpeded through the newly-planted bottomland acres, closing the road for two days.
There was another gully-washer last Wednesday night, over six inches here. The road stayed open. The result of all the rains has been rampant weed growth in all my flower and veggie beds. I did manage to pull up lots of chicory and Queen Anne's Lace while the ground was sodden.
I believe the weeds just bide their time, knowing they will soon present a united front, overwhelming my efforts to keep things reasonably tidy. Once again, I realize I can plant lots more than I can keep weeded.
Their ally in the campaign is the extreme humidity that has descended upon the land like a clammy blanket. Coupled with daily temperatures over ninety and blazing sunshine, I have retreated into the cool, eighty-degree house during the heat of the day.
Molly was here for a few days and dyed some yarn, started knitting a hat and knitted some washcloths. Fortunately, I had lots of good geology and astronomy videos checked out from the library. We also worked two puzzles and baked brownies in the Sun Oven. A couple of nights were clear enough for stargazing until the moon rose. All the while, I knew the weeds were out there gaining strength.
In the mornings and evenings, I give it my best shot, reclaiming small bits of ground. One evening, I pulled five big tubs before surrendering, sweat drenching my clothes and dripping down my glasses.
Even if weeding was all I had to do, I couldn't keep up. Now, the field peach trees, which have never had more than a few miserable peaches, suddenly are producing bushels of the good stuff. Here is last night's harvest, just the start of peach processing season. Molly has gone home, but Lis may come next weekend to help me with them.
Chris fixed my car the other day, but gardening is a supposed fun thing I do because I love growing things. If I even asked for help weeding, I would find everyone had other plans. Serves me right. If all else fails in keeping ahead of the weeds, there is always frost at the end.
