Sunday musings

A cold front's blowing through now, so I'll let yesterday's work stand on its own merits and not try to venture outside.  Other than to bring in house plants and make cuttings off begonias.

The south garden plot, before Saturday.  At this point I would ask is there any point in having a garden at all?  It always ends up like this--an endless circle; green to gray; death to redemption; seed to weed.

This is after.  Labor, power tools, and Callie's help.  It's not plantable but it's possible to imagine it becoming so.  Gardening--like anything worth doing--requires a great deal of imagination.  Hope, I guess you'd call it.  Or is it stupidity?  Being too stupid to realize how pointless it all is.  But if gardening is pointless, then so is life....

I don't want to go there.

I found three potato plants that had come up from potatoes I missed in the digging.  I guess I'll leave them.  If we have an abnormally mild winter, they'll get a head-start on next year.







I left the broccoli, too.  After my cutting this summer, some cows came through and nipped off the tops.  But the massive stalks are still there, working at it.  Will they overwinter and produce a third crop?  I don't know but I don't have the heart to kill them; they're trying so hard.