Leaving the house in the hands of a very capable young man, we drove away not knowing what would live and what would die.
That is the thing about gardening on the high desert plains of northwestern Nevada. You can make plans. You can plant seeds. You can water, fuss, mulch, pray, and whisper encouragement over tiny green things. Then you leave town for a few days and hope for the best.
When we came home, summer had finally made up her mind.
The weather is no longer flirting with warmth. She has thrown open the oven door and announced herself. With 100-degree days lined up for the foreseeable future, it is time to be on high alert with the hose. Around here, that means morning patrol, evening patrol, and the occasional emergency rescue mission when some poor plant looks like it has given up the will to live.
But some babies made it.
After weeks of wondering if the seedlings were ever going to do anything besides sit there looking fragile and offended, they have finally decided to take hold and grow. It is such a small miracle, but I’ll take it. Every little leaf feels like a victory.
Of course, we are still fighting mildew, because gardening would apparently be too easy without a little drama. But the babies are growing. That’s what matters.
And I am already waiting for next February, when I will put the seeds out way too early again.
I know better.
I will do it anyway.
The roses have gone through one full bloom, and oh, the roses we have. Every color. Every fragrance. Every form of beauty standing right outside our door like a living bouquet.
HHH didn’t want any grocery store flowers for his bride.
Nope.
He wanted the real deal. Flowers growing in the ground. Flowers that bloom and fade and bloom again. Flowers that need pruning, water, patience, and love.
Just like the rest of us.
The dogs will be home from puppy camp in a few hours. I must say, it has been rather quiet around here without them. Too quiet, maybe. But then again, we all need a break from time to time. Even dog people. Even garden people. Even retired people who somehow remain busier than they were before retirement.
Our reunion will be action-packed. There will be barking, wiggling, joyful chaos, and probably a few hurt feelings over being abandoned at camp, even though they were spoiled rotten the entire time.
Along with the plants that are supposed to be growing, the weeds are also in full production. They did not need encouragement. They did not need pampering. They did not need carefully timed watering or whispered prayers.
They simply took one look at summer and got busy.
And so, the summer begins.
The roses are blooming. The seedlings are growing. The weeds are winning for the moment. The dogs are coming home. The hose is ready.
Some babies made it.
And in this garden, that is always enough reason to rejoice.
